He woke and felt the stickiness on his hands. Through hazy
blurred eyes he could see the blood, part red part brown covering his fingers
and palms. As he began to look beyond his hands he could a sea of crimson that
stained his white sheets and duvet.
His foggy head tried desperately to remember what had
happened, why was his bed like this? It was then that he saw the razor on the
pillow and the bad thoughts, the bad memories flooded back.
He knew, he remembered and he swore,
He was never going to do ‘slammers’ again and he certainly
wasn’t going to take a bet that he could shave his legs with his eyes closed.
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