When the Clock Strikes Night

One

Blood dribbles down my chin. All I can concentrate on is the sweet taste of blood. Cherries on top of a banana split. That’s what it tastes like. Cherries on top of a banana split.

I inhale deeply, savoring the scent of the drained corpse. In my euphoric state I accidentally let the dead man slip to the floor. Splat! Blood spills onto the new hardwood floors. Damn. I need to clean this up before She gets home. I grab a mop and start cleaning. A door creaks open. No! Crap! Another door opens. She’s getting closer. Please, if there is a God. The mop slips from my sweaty hands and clatters to the floor. I try to drag the body to the nearest closet, but suddenly I’m surrounded by darkness. It’s too late.  

You've got a good sense of suspense building here, and despite myself (this is far from my type of story) I want to read on.

This is so short, though, it's hard to know what to say. I like the content, because it's so bizarre and the sparseness is, for a lack of a better word, cool.

What I do think you should change is where you have the paragraphs. If I were you, I'd add quite a few of them. Maybe one after Splat!, another after "the new hardwood floors." One after "Damn." and another after "A door creaks open." And onward and so forth.

The reason is that it's more dramatic, and builds suspense because it's like a staircase, each new paragraph adding a bit more until the "Dun dun DUN" moment of "It's too late."

Just an idea. Take it if you want.

Rach

Blood dribbles down my chin. All I can concentrate on is the sweet taste of blood. Cherries on top of a banana split. That’s what it tastes like. Cherries on top of a banana split.

I inhale deeply, savoring the scent of the drained corpse. In my euphoric state I accidentally let the dead man slip to the floor. Splat!
Blood spills onto the new hardwood floors. Damn.
I need to clean this up before She gets home. I grab a mop and start cleaning. A door creaks open.
No! Crap! Another door opens. She’s getting closer. Please, if there is a God. The mop slips from my sweaty hands and clatters to the floor. I try to drag the body to the nearest closet, but suddenly I’m surrounded by darkness. It’s too late.


Is that better? Should I add a space better each new paragraph or leave it the way it is?