RED

                                                                

Lily stumbled out of the building and fell to her knees. She felt every pebble through the thin fabric of her gown, a dozen daggers jabbing at her from underneath. Her red hair fell about her shoulders in an ominous halo.

When she looked up (minutes, hours later?) she saw them. The stars. So many of them. Were they always this bright? A sprinkle of twinkling white dots, all spread out haphazardly on the dark canvas of night. It reminded her of her life in a way, there was no logic, no aim. No future.

As the pain in her knees eased slightly, she took in the cold, crisp air. It tasted of winter and ice on her tongue. It made her shiver. Her breath fogged, ghostlike as she released it.

How long had she spent here, prostrated, waiting, hoping, giving up?

No never. She had come this far. She could never give up.

She looked down and opened her palm slowly. It was tinged with red. Three copper coins, with a dull shine that faintly echoed the soft glow of the moon.

Blink.

Too much red. Far too much red. Not just her palm tinted with it, but flecks - stains! - blooming across her cream skirts like flowers in the spring.

“Miss!”

The voice boomed and her heart jumped.

“Miss, can you hear me?”

She froze.

One voice, low and... caring, almost? But the steps of two, three individuals? The sounds muffled by a thin layer of snow but still clearly audible.

“Did you see where it went?”

“Look out!”, Voices further away.

“See anything?”

Echoes.

“Miss”, a hand on her shoulder as she held her breath, “did you see where it went, the beast?”

The voice feels softer now, coaxing almost.

She dares not turn around, shoulders slumping, head bowed. A sob brings her body back to life.

“I don’t... I don’t remember anything!”, her head droops lower, her hands cradling her face.

“Of course not.”, The man pats her back awkwardly, “please come back in, you’ll catch your death!”

Lanterns flash by, people run back and forth.

“He’s... He’s dead isn’t he?”

Silence.

Even the commotion couldn’t mask the eerie silence of the snow.

“Miss please, come back in, you’ll freeze to death!”

She turns then, and sees him. An angel in the snow. Except there is nothing angelic about the way he is sprawled, his legs and arms at an awkward angle, a pool of red beneath him.

Her legs almost buckle as she tries to rise. She pulls her hood forward and licks her lips.

How she loves that taste. Blood. Tastes like iron. A tang of copper.

She licks her lips again and they turn white as snow. No colour left.

She drops the copper coins, tiny moons in the night, and hides her smile as she walks past the corpse and holds tight onto her saviour’s arm.

 

 

 

Image: ForesticaCreations

Inspired by: Jacques Brel, Dans Le Port D’Amsterdam...

…And also the book I am currently reading : V. E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue.