Nightmare

Charles heard the sound of blood flowing. It flowed on the floor, snaked across the walls backwards, and writhed toward the ceiling. It moved without regard to gravity, humming a love song of death.

He gazed at the elegant décor stained with blood—the dark red pillars with dark red baroque carvings, the dark red walls with dark red oil paintings, and the dark red ceiling with dark red chandeliers.

The large hall was bloody as well. Corpses were scattered about the world covered in blood. The dead faces were torn into pieces and each one was unfamiliar.

Charles stared at them in fear. Finally, he looked down and saw Abraham’s face. Abraham looked at him as well. Charles’s pale face was reflected in the blank eyes. A pleased smile seemed to still remain on the dead face.

"Charles, you’re a hero." He grasped Charles’s hand and said gently, "So impressive. I’m proud to be your professor."

"Professor…" Charles gaped at him.