The world regained focus with shouting.

"Damn, are you fucking nuts!? Do you think this is some kind of game!? I don't care what the hell happened but. . .what the fuck are you doing!?!"

She blinked her eyes as her hand touched her forehead.

"Ugh. . ." A splitting headache ran through her head.

"Please. . .no more deaths. . .put the thing down

. . .please. . .I don't want to have to shoot you." The man pleaded with her.

"What. . .?" She tilted her head.

Her eyes wandered around.

The world was gray and colorless. The sun was high but without vibrance. The streets were of concrete and asphalt, not gold and silver. The buildings lost their shine and splash of luster. There was nothing unique.

Her eyes widened and she gripped her weapon as her vision shook.

Around her were corpses of humans bathed in red.

"What. . .?"

The man walked closer while holding his hands up.

"I mean no harm. . .please. You're having a psychotic breakdown. . .whatever you're seeing is not real. . ."

She felt her mind shaking and she took a step back, teeth gnashing.

"Where am I? Who are you. . .? The world is purple and pink and all the colors of the rainbow!" She yelled. "Psychotic? Are you calling me crazy!? How can I be crazy!? This isn't real life! Give me back my pretty pinks and blues! How can you call these dull grays real!?"

Her feet sunk into a puddle of red and she looked down at broken bodies and mangled corpses. Chunks of meat laid bare upon a road of gray as if a beast had chewed at the individuals they once belonged to. Ripped and torn by a deadly weapon. Eyes in broken skulls stained with tears. Mouths agape in halfway cut screams.

"No. . ." Her legs shook.

The red of the gore was not a beautiful painting.

"No. . ."

Men. . .women. . .children. . .

"No. . ."

Vomit churned in her stomach.

No.

No.

Those reds were not the blood of people.

No.

No.

They couldn't be.

No.

No.

"Give me back my colors. . ."

The man moved closer. "Hey, put that thing down would you? . .let's talk things out, okay? We can get you whatever help you need. . .medicine. . .therapy. . .I can assure you whatever you're seeing isn't real."

Her red soaked shoes stopped.

"Yes. . ." She nodded as it all clicked together, hand turning firm.

He was right.

"This isn't the real world. . ." She turned the chainsaw to herself.

"This isn't the real world!"

The roar of the machine resounded as she painted the gray world in red. One way or the other, she would see them.

She would be in her world of bubblegum pop.