Unnecessary

He woke up and slowly lifted his head, a thread of drool strung from his lip to a puddle on his pillow. While his red and squinting eyes scanned the room he pulled his hand out of his underwear where it had apparently been spooning with his genitals. His gaze landed on his feet, one of which was still encased in his shoe, tagged with a piece of toilet paper. His other foot was bare and, for an unknown reason, bloody.

He wiggled his toes, felt no pain, and shrugged. He rolled his body over the edge of his bed, landing in a pile of dirty clothes and vomit. He sighed and lifted himself from the cold, sticky mess. He wiped his hand on his once-white tee shirt, adding to the stains from the previous night.

He shuffled, still half-drunk, out of his room and down the hall, stopping in the doorway of the bathroom. A pale, shaven leg hung out into the hallway, its toes pointed upward showing off the pretty green painted nails. He nudged the appendage with his shoed foot. It rocked limply and became still. His hand quickly fumbled for the light switch.

The fluorescent light flickered, revealing a corpse, as if reality had suddenly turned into a horror movie. Finally, the light won out over dark, and he was left staring at her resting in a pool of blood. It surrounded her head like black halo.

He knelt down next to her and put his head to her chest. He couldn't hear over his own heartbeat. He put his hand under her neck and tried to lift her into a sitting position, but her hair was encrusted in blood and glued to the tile floor. He screamed something and fell over her body, sobbing.

After a few minutes, he lifted himself up and looked into her pale face. He kissed her and then whispered, "Please, get up." She just stared past him with half-open eyes. His tears fell from his face to hers.