I stare at my reflection. When I smile, she smiles. When I frown, she frowns. When I point the gun’s tip to my head, she does it too. And then there is blood running down our face, like honey dripping down from the bee’s nest. It is blue, not red, and when I push my index finger into the hole, it lets out the blue blood intensely.

The blue blood is making such a messy mess in this room. But it adds the colour. This room is lacking of colour. The wall is white, and the bed is too, and the lamp, and everything. The only coloured thing inside this room is me, and my blood now.

I twist my finger before I pull it out. It is blue, and I have learned the beauty of it. Blue is not hollow, blue is not cold like the colour white. I don’t like the colour white. It is boring.

I expect someone running down the aisle and bang the door, and then yelling at me for what I have done to myself. But nobody come around. I look at the white door with desperate eye, is there nobody want to yell at me? I missed being shout at.

Instead, something circular like a plate slide its way down towards me. It is the sucking-robot, as I call it. Because whenever I shoot myself like this, this robot will always come and clean the floor with a super speed.

“Hello, Mr Robot, how are you today?”

The sucking-robot just buzzes in return. It has some kind of circling light on its top, it is like blinking at me.

“So what is for dinner today, Mr Robot?”

It buzzes twice, and I take that as an ‘I don’t know’.

“Oh, very well, then, I will take everything for dinner today.”

The robot is nearly done with its job. It takes its last spin and the last drop of my blue blood is gone under its circular legs.

“Good bye, Mr Robot,” I say as the robot slides away from me. “I am looking forward for the dinner!”

I hear a faint click as the robot disappears through a small square door in the left of the room. Now I really wonder what’s for dinner today.