Posts from artist, author and musician Jennifer Katherine Shields about that sort of stuff. Author of Against the Current and Project Evasion. Musician, also as Open Eyes. I produce a show at 95bFM, produce and present two at Fleet FM and write reviews and things for NZ Musician. Trans. she/her/hers or neutral (a/ath/athes preferred) pronouns. This blog isn't used all that often, check other links for a link to the personal one.

The first thing I became aware of was a resonating within my body. A steady vibration coming in bursts every 3 seconds. As my hearing began tuning in I realised that the vibrations came in time with a loud banging that shook the the floor and rattled glass.

I became aware of the cold below me, the floor was smooth, I realised I was lying on laminate flooring. Something about this seemed foreign to me.

Thinking about it, a lot of things escaped me at that moment. I couldn’t remember where I was, how I’d gotten there, what day it was, hell, I couldn’t even remember who I was.

And still the thuds droned on… thud… thud… thud…

Still lying on the cold laminate flooring my eyes refused to open, nevertheless I began noticing other things about my surroundings. There was a distinct smell, something metallic, I recognised it but couldn’t place why. It was mixing with some other smell, something burning, not like a fire, no, not burning, somewhere in the back of my mind it reminded me of the fourth of July.

Thud.. thud… thud…

I started to become more aware of my own body, I noticed I was lying on my front, odd. I also noticed a dull pain throbbing in my head and the more I thought about it the more intense it became until with every thud my head felt like it was being torn open by a crowbar.

I began wondering how I’d gotten into this situation, and what exactly the situation was that I was in. God I wished that thudding would just stop so I could at least try to think straight.

I tried to open my eyes to get a look at where I was, maybe seeing things would make them clearer. I tried desperately to open them but it was like a Chinese finger trap, the more I tried the more they stayed closed together.

I took a deep breath, the pain from my head and the effort of trying to open my eyes had begun to make me feel sick and close to passing out again. I knew I couldn’t let that happen. I was beginning to realise that whatever situation I was in, it wasn’t a good one.

In the second that I took to take a breath I noticed that the thudding had stopped it’s ever repetitive pattern. I was reveling in this fact when suddenly a crash, so much louder than before made me jump. The shock had scared me into opening my eyes. What I saw before me made me wish I’d kept them shut.

I could see a man lying a few feet away from me, his face only in profile as it stared at the ceiling. Something about him looked oddly familiar to me. Even with my non-existent memory and from my less than perfect vantage point I could tell that I knew this man. Forgetting the pain I was in for a second I raised myself up onto my elbows.


The word fell from my mouth before I even knew I’d spoken it. Harry, my big brother lay there, looking like he’d chosen to randomly have a nap on the floor in the middle of the day only it wasn’t so peaceful. From his mouth was a trickle of dried blood, his hands held the wound in his stomach from which his life had escaped.

I didn’t realise I’d gotten to my feet until I noticed I was looking down at him. Something wet formed just under his eye, for a second I thought it was his tears before I worked out it was mine.

I turned away, unable to look at him any more. What faced me took my breath away.

"Bloodbath". I’ve read a lot of newspaper articles about crime scenes and that word is thrown around all the time, to me it always conjured up images of Elizabeth Báthory, the Blood Countess. I’d never really known what they meant by it until now. As I took in the sight of my brother’s family laying in front of me. Dear Susan, my sister-in-law huddled in the corner of their living room her beautiful face now pale and empty, her long blonde hair matted with blood. In her arms their 3 year old, Jason, once such a bouncy toddler, flashes of teaching him how to kick a ball at the last family barbecue now tarnished as I stared at his lifeless little body. He seemed so small now. Donna, their middle child, 6 years old, a proper little woman, now she’d never get a chance to go to her senior prom or grow up and become the heart breaker she’d been destined to be. Only one missing. Daryl, their eldest. I scanned the room but couldn’t see him. I noticed footprints in the blood. My eyes followed them to the door…

3 policemen stood in the doorway, Kevlar vests on, guns in hand. I startled as I realised they were all trained on me.

"Face down on the ground!"

I stood dumbstruck, not taking in what they were asking of me. I went to protest when something caught my eye…

A gun, lying on the floor, inches from where I’d been lying only 10 seconds before.

Credit to dum-dee-dum, of reddit.

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