aninyosaloh

Two hazel eyes are staring at me, challenging yet confused. A man in his forties is piercing me with his gaze. I look around him. It is a mirror, that man is me. A vermilion line crosses my face vertically, to finish dripping on the tip of the chin. On the floor, a pool of blood geometrizes, remaining trapped between the white tiles and crumbling into a path of points that dies under the closed door. The green light of the halogens colors everything a dull tone, me included. It marks the wrinkles on my forehead and the dark circles around my eyes, giving me a cadaverous look. I start to feel a throbbing pain in the head, where the river of b