Cecil smacked himself up against the wall of the booth as his hands tried helplessly to stop the blood flow. Red ran down his hand and shirt in streams, beginning to slump down against the wall, tears welling in his eyes. The pain was indescribable, feeling as if he were drowning in his own fluids, the taste of copper filling his mouth.
In in attempt to call for help, he simply gurgled his own blood, eyes bulging and tensed
Intern Marci had felt a love for her job from day one. This earned strange looks from her fellow interns. But she had so suddenly felt a zeal for the station, and for the Voice of Night Vale. Mr. Palmer had shown her a certain degree of kindness in return, assigning the more dangerous and life-threatening tasks to other interns, other… less desirable interns.
The “ON AIR” sign was not lit up, and so, as was customary for this time of day, Intern Marci carried a gently steaming mug of coffee, prepared just the way she learned the radio host liked it, down the hallway to the door of the recording booth. She knocked twice, as she usually did, before turning the knob and peeking in towards the desk. He was not there…
"Mr. Palmer?" Marci pushed the door open further, her eyes following a startling trail of blood until her eyes fell upon him. "Mr. Palmer!"
The cup of coffee fell from her grip as the intern threw herself across the room, not knowing what to do except try to place her hands below the wound.