Confusion is a Red Pen

The clock keeps ticking.

Your glance around the room, frustrated, yet relieved.

The stack of papers accurately organized next to you is all done.

Except for one.

Sitting there, motionless, in front of you on the table.

White,

Pristine,

Clean.

You glance at the paper,

Somewhat intimidated.

You pull out the red pen out of your pocket.

A look of uncertainty masks your face.

Your eyes show a gaze of bewilderment,

Confusion.

You slowly pluck off the cap,

Tossing it offhandedly to the side.

The pen touches the paper,

It starts to trickle.

Let the bleeding begin.