My blood will cover:
Part of the window sill. Those curtains, not these.
I’ll die, here, staining only my things.
But not the table: the heirloom from my wife’s mother.
“Why?” She’d ask.
Because these things are mine.
(Image: www.pexels.com, “Chess”)Tags: fiction, Horror, Microfiction, Prompt, the suicides, Yeahwrite