The Weekday One Hundred

I’ll stop procrastinating one day, I tell myself. Unfortunately, it isn’t today.

I check my watch. She’ll be here in minutes. I scoop up an unruly ball of dirty clothes off the floor and hunt for a convenient hiding place.

But something feels wet, warm. I check my hands – they’re covered in a dark red liquid. My heart pounds. Why am I covered in blood?  

I look down, see dark spots dotting my living room carpet. I see more sprouting up – one red blotch after another until the floor is covered.

I race for the door, twist the knob.

Locked.