crimson room
An average male has about 5 liters of blood. Just enough to paint the floor of a small room a shimmering crimson red.
In the middle of the room is a crossbar. In the crossbar is a rusty hook. Thrown over the hook is a rope and hanging at the end of the rope is the empty body of a man, white, dark-haired, average in every sense of the word.
Except for the fact that his blood is covering the floor.
Earlier he had woken up inside this room, hanging upside down from the ceiling with a note carved into the sensitive inner side of his bare arm.
If you try to escape you will die. Any movement meant to bring you into an upright position will be considered an attempt to escape. There are cameras. We will know if you attempt to escape.
It had scared him and the fact that there was still blood trickling from the cuts in his arm, looking like strings of coral pearls made sure he didn’t even question his situation just hung there, letting the blood gather in his head.
Soon he was getting dizzy. Then it was starting to be painful.
His feet felt weirdly light and empty and started to lose feeling as his head became heavier and heavier and he was almost expecting it to burst open and spill his brain and all of the gathered blood over the floor.
When a persistent thrumming in his ear had completely muted out his hearing and he was about to throw up the man gave up.
He started swinging back and forth, gathering up enough momentum to swing his upper body up high enough to catch hold of the rope around his foot.
The second he reached out for the rope he felt a cutting pain at his throat. His fingers missed, only catching air as he swung back down, a shining cascade of scarlet droplets flowing from his slit throat.
Gurgling and screaming the man had to witness how his blood oozed from his cleanly cut throat, flowing over his face and dripping to the floor.
He stopped moving at some point.
Even later on the last drop of crimson left his body and the room’s floor was coated evenly with red.