Blood

Blood is one of those things that people have definite reactions to. Either it bothers them or it doesn’t. They’re queasy or they can handle it. Blood is not a neutral topic. I happen to fall into the former categories.

I live in a small studio. One wall is sliding glass doors that go to what I like to refer to as my “sunporch,” a 3′ by 12′ tiled enclosed balcony where my washing machine is at one end and my oil heater (in a closet) is at the other. I don’t have curtains; they are quite expensive here. So to create a sense of privacy I covered my sliding glass doors with a slightly opaque contact-paper-esque substance. Light still comes into my apartment, but outsiders can’t see in.

Every morning, the first thing I do after stumbling out of bed is open the sliding glass doors to see what the weather is like. Is it sunny? Raining? Yellow sandstorm?

This morning, I opened my sliding glass doors, saw it was sunny, looked down and saw a stream of blood trickling from the oil heater closet, across the tile floor, and into the drain in front of the washer. I screamed, slammed the sliding glass door shut, and jumped back into bed, pulling the covers over my head. “What is bleeding to death in my closet? Do I dare open the doors to find out? How did it get there? Is this really happening?” I looked around the room. It seemed like my room. There weren’t any bizarre features to make me think I was dreaming. I sniffed the air. It didn’t smell like anything was decomposing. Once again, I got out of bed. I tiptoed to the sliding glass doors. Slowly, I slid the end door open. Looked down. Yes, it looks like blood. And a lot of it. My stomach began to turn. I opened the closet door and peaked in.

I didn’t see a small child or dead animal. Which was good. But something was wrong. Gasoline, or oil, or water, or some liquid was dripping. A lot. And combining with rust, or something, I still don’t know what, to create a blood-like liquid that then seeped out from under the closet and across the floor. Good news. Nothing is dead in my apartment. Yet. Bad news. I have no idea what is covering my floor.