He grabs at the bed sheets and heaves himself up to his knees. With one hand between his legs and another acting as a third leg, he crabs towards the door. Blood pools into the hand between his legs, drifting chunks, scarlet stirring. After a few minutes, he reaches the door.
He sits beside the food tray. He props himself up to his knees with his free hand, then holds on to the doorknob with the other.
He tries to pull himself up, but the knob is slippery with blood. He slips and falls and hits his head on the knob's half-circle.
His legs suddenly close as reflex, squeezing the wound, further tearing the flesh.
