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He leans against the doorframe, and his body is heaving, sputtering, gasping. And yes, every breath is agony, but that’s all to change very soon. The blood spattered on his palm is so red, Souji thinks as he trembles in the night wind. He’s leaning against the wall for support. His lungs are searing, and his eyes are watering--they’re only watering, damn it!--and Souji stares still as the sweat beading his brow begin to rivet toward his chin. So. Immutably. Red.
-excerpt "From the heart of a dying man"
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It's your turn to decide where we go; I'm taking drabble prompts. Requests taken here, on my blog, via Twitter... yeah.