She was home.

Little by little the lights dimmed.
Picture it: Ground. Dirt you remember with dry bits of grass.

Seeping wounds.
And the stadium lights grew foggy as this little bit slid a perfect fit in to her side.

Linoleum fluorescence.
These patches of unhindered ground where blood looked thicker than gravel splashed in theatre curtains.

Beautiful Electric Hum.
That cascaded above her shouts and cries for help as the exit wound spilled slander on to the grout.

Overly Dramatic.
When the last bit of shriek slid raspy from her throat.

Whispers.
And no one hears those in a screaming room.
-P.S.