Plethora

1. Drama much

Jessica's POV

The panic. The fear. The confusion. It all set in so suddenly. My mind could not wrap around the fact of what I was witnessing, of what situation I was in. But I had to act—act fast. Zoned in, I got to work. "Dave, how did this happen?" I panic and clutch Dave's abdomen. "I don't know; it all happened so fast. I was not able to see clearly or gauge the threat," said Dave, clearly in pain. The wound's location was apparent. It was red, a little bit on the orange side, but still staining his white shirt. The thick red liquid made its way past the napkin and onto my hands, marking them with blood. The wound seemed to be due to a stabbing that I still was not aware of having happened. I just prayed that the wound would stop bleeding. The dampness horrified me. Just then, it dawned on me that we have to contact the police in case of an unnatural occurrence. My brain unfreezes from the moment's trauma and realises something crucial. "Oh god, I'm so sorry. I'm trying to talk, and I didn't notice this before. Wait right here; I'll call the emergency services. We need to get you to the hospital!"

"No, wait, you don't call them; you'll be a possible suspect, and I can't see you like that. I need you by my side during the treatment. Please, I love you."

"Now is not the time to make a love confession, Dave, but I'm not going until you make the call. I can't leave you like this, you idiot. I'll wait till they arrive."

"You would do that for me. You know I liked Caesar, but not to the point where I idolised him so much that I would copy his method of dying." A completely idiotic thought to say out loud. But in the moment of weakness, I'll accept even the most stupid thoughts.

"Shut up, Dave; you're not going to die; it's a small wound. You'll heal and live. normally."

"Oh shit, when did this play get this cringy? Please don't act like this. Or I'll kill myself. Oh, Jessica, oh, Dave, nope, this nonsense scene needs to go."

"I can still add my joke."

"What joke are you talking about? Not the Julian Caesar one!"

"It's gold for me. I was so inspired by him that I decided to copy his style of death by getting stabbed."

"Please don't; just die as naturally as you can."

"But I thought my acting was on point. I mean, who could match my desperation while yelling for help? Mark here would never," I said. "You yelled? When you spoke two times while your loving boyfriend was dying on the floor," replied Mark. "See, I told you I was dying. It would look more natural for me to die. That improvisation was not fitting." "Okay, sorry, guys, from now on, Dave will be dying, and if he doesn't, then I'll personally make sure he's dying. Okay, and for authenticity, I'll scream for help: HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME HELP! HELP—"

Knock, knock, knock.

I unlocked the door, forgetting during our mini-argument that I was still covered in fake blood made of corn flour and food colouring. That must have been a horrible sight because, as soon as I opened the door, a scream flew out of our neighbour's mouth. A shrill sound so loud that it rattles my ears.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's just food colouring. It's not real. It's just a prop. We are practising a play, and we were just testing to see if it looks good or not. See, even the dead body is not dead yet. Dave says hello."

"Hello, I'm sorry if we created any difficulty for you; that was not our intention. We were practising for the play. Here is the script if you would like to see it, and the supposed blood is edible and made from corn flour."

"I don't care if you need some last-minute getaway practice; you scared me half to death. I will not become an experiment for my reactions. I will not react to this situation next time. You kids need to take your practice elsewhere. You guys have no respect for your neighbours, shouting all day and disrupting the peace. You better remember that if you continue this charade, you will get evacuated, and nobody will help you. So do it quietly, or study, or get out of here."