How to Fail Successfully

1

That's a lot of blood, she thought a bit hysterically dropping the length of broken pipe. To her adrenaline enhanced senses the clattering was like an alarm bell and she found herself hunching against the ally wall waiting for invisible foes to attack.

How did this go so wrong, she let out a choked sob before hastily covering her mouth to muffle her panicked squeaky breathing. I just wanted to help! Not- not... This!

She glanced down at her shoes and gagged quickly moving to the other side of the ally. Her previously white tennis shoes were stained dark red-brown and was that brain matter?! She realized she had been standing in a puddle of blood and retched a bit, barely holding back her stomach contents.

Okay, okay, calm down, calm down. Breath, right, breath. Need to keep breathing. Very important. Keeps you not dead. Like him. Okay don't think about that , bad idea.

What am I supposed to do? I just killed someone! Am I going to jail? Is this where my life ends? No I can't... I- I'm not a murderer. It was self-defense! But no, I... I attacked him... but it was to protect someone so maybe... But he ran off so no one will believe me! Wait... she glanced around, intensely staring into the shadows at either end of the narrow street. No one saw me. I can just... leave. Alright I watch plenty of cop shows I should be able to do this. She nodded jerkily to herself, slowed her breathing and tried to focus her mind on her surroundings.

Her eyes skitterd nervously around and she squeezed them shut for a moment of helpless panic before drew a breath in through her nose and snapped her eyes open. Okay, blood... Pipe covered in blood... More blood... Blood with chunks and... The Body.

Her gaze was unconsciously drawn to the face. The dark blood obscuring the right side of his face was starting to crust and the slick red puddle around his head had stopped spreading. His skin was deathly pale mottled purple bruises. He seemed young, or at least not yet old and for a moment her mind wandered to questions about his life and his family before cutting off this dangerous line of thought.

The man was dressed, she noticed for the first time, rather nicely, in a gray suit and light blue silk tie. The thought of taking his wallet crossed her mind for an instant, but was even more quickly dismissed.

The wail of a siren in the distance shocked and galvanized her. Okay how would the police know if she was here? Fingerprints, DNA... Camera? Oh no. She turned around and around looking frantically for any sign of video surveillance.

When it appeared that the ally way had no cameras to speak of, at least that she could see she snatched up the pipe that undoubtedly was covered in her fingerprints and crept to the far end of the ally.

The street was illuminated dimly by buzzing yellow streetlights, but compared to the dark of the ally it was as bright as day and she realized what a sight she must make with her mussed hair blood spattered clothes and soaked shoes carrying an iron pipe with blood dripping from it and her wild, terrified eyes.

Her house was maybe a dozen blocks away and there was know way she could get a ride looking like this but walking left a chance of being spotted, she thought as she nervously wrapped her arms around herself in sudden chill. There was really no choice, and so she began walking as swiftly as as she could without outright running, while constantly glancing around and jumping at nothing.

Twenty minutes later, completely exhausted and feeling like she was about to drop dead she stumbled up the stairs to her front door. She pulled her keys out and fumbled trying to line it up with the keyhole and dropped them.

At this point even the the thought of bending over made her muscles cry and she groaned as did so. As her fingers scrabbled against the porch she felt something wet. With keys in hand she stood back up and realized the tips of her fingers were red. Confused she pulled out her phone and turned on the flash light and used it to look around.

The bloody outline of a shoe marked her porch. Her mind blanked. Slowly she moved the light down her porch steps and to the side walk. A broken trail of bloody shoe-prints marked her path home in exact detail. Her eyes trailed down to her bloody white tennis shoes with just a bit of brain.

Oh, right.

A.N consider this a very, very rough draft with zero editing, given that I have very little experience writing.