Maybe it was the smell. Maybe it was the dripping. Or maybe it was that sticky sludge which was permeating my skin. I woke up. I opened my eyes.

  The first thing I saw was the blood. Blood and fragments of innards studded the walls, the push-button panel—me. It was everywhere. Some organic residue seemed to be blocking the elevator’s sensor. The door was open and—

  Oh God.

  At the center of the hall—lying on the pavement—was he. My former employer.

  Oh God.

  Before that horror, I couldn’t even formulate a thought. I stayed there for a minute, crouched in the elevator’s corner—petrified. Then—with difficulty—I stood up. The smell was penetrating and nauseating. I could barely hold my vomit back. I got close to the body—quivering. My shoes were emitting a horrifying sound on the gunky pavement. I forced myself to look at him. A terrible gash opened him in half. But what struck me the most were his eyes. His pupils were dilated and his face was a grimace of pure terror.

  What the hell happened?

  The elevator had descended while we were fighting. Maybe someone had entered the building and hit my now ex-employer? It didn’t seem like there was anyone around. And what the hell could cause such a wound? I wrapped my head in my hands. The more I tried to understand something, the more I felt confused.

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  A part of me just wanted to leave—find a lost and deserted place and disappear—forget about my own existence. But the other part needed to know, had to understand.

  I turned back and—I froze.

  On the elevator mirror there was a writing.

  A blood red writing.

  “LOOK AT ME”

  My tremor became almost uncontrollable. I was shaken by violent waves of panic. The last letter was dripping down down as if it had been written in a rush—in a hurry.

  Look at me?

  But there’s no one besides me…

  Mirror’s me was returning a frightened and shocked gaze. My eyes were bloodshot. The dark circles under my eyes were more and more hollowed.

  I had become a shadow of my old self.

  More and more upset, I withdrew and I collided with the corpse of my ex-boss. The contact with that dead body with autolysis in full swing—even through the shoes—caused me an immense disgust.

  I fled. I didn’t know where I was going. I just ran—without looking back.

  What the fuck was I supposed to do? Where the fuck could I go? Far away. That day had taken quite unexpected turns and had made me deviate from my original plan. But perhaps there was still hope for me. Perhaps I could still leave and forget.

  Perhaps I could still leave and start again?