She and her husband were going to eat the man in the chair — this was certain; it had been discussed for a long time — but despite the novelty of the situation she could not stop looking at the wallpaper. The man was bound tightly with hazard tape and he had finally stopped struggling. She could see his head lolling, the eyes open and glistening, in her peripheral vision. But this wallpaper. A pure blue, scraped away like sunburned skin. This blue room that was becoming not-blue. A room of grazes, cuts and gashes, a room unsutured, a room undressed.
A room of wounds.