blood on our hands

There is blood on the kitchen bench. It is not mine, and it is not human. It's just there. Ignored like any other stain. I'm almost sitting in it. I'm sitting in it. And next to it. There is blood on a plate. Sunk in the shallow swimming pool of a dinner dish, the fluids of some creature's veins the afterthought of a meal. Now it's in the dishwater. Some creature's blood is in the dishwater, and all the dishes are being washed in a slightly yellow liquid. Now left to drain in the dish rack. Now drying - an invisible caking/clotting. Slight remnants of an orthodox homicide on our dishes. And still on the bench. Now on our tea towel. Now going onto the cupboard handle. Now we have blood on our hands.