Tainted Red

Preface

You walk through the forest, your hands shaking. You don’t know what can be done

The red liquid dripping from your fingers, the warm, sticky liquid couldn’t be blood. That knife laying not ten feet away couldn’t be what was used to kill the man who was laying just fifteen feet away. 

You stumble through the tree line, walking to what you think is the North. The bright lights of a car blind you, and so do the red and blue flashes. The cops were coming for you. You scurry in the opposite direction, away from the car, but towards the body. As you keep going for another ten minutes, you still haven’t seen the body. But you did see the bloody patch where he used to lay.

You’re disoriented, not sure where you are. Not sure what happened. Not sure how you got here.

The red around the edge of your vision could either be specks of blood, or the result of rage. During this whole thing you don’t feel scared. You feel mad. You feel as if you could hurt anyone who came close, and that you would do it. As you lurch through the dark forest, your foot catches on something. You fall down directly into something warm. And sticky. When you get up, the face of the man who insulted you yesterday was staring up with blank eyes. 

You want to scream. You should scream. Normal people would scream, staring at the man they had just murdered. But you’re not normal. You’ve never been normal. Your head starts spinning, and the world goes black.

Rage

You wake up happy. It’s a good day. Yesterday had been a bad day. You had been angry at everyone and everything. You had forced yourself to stay inside for other people's safety.

But today your mood is manageable. You don’t worry about killing people. You don’t worry about hurting someone. The mood you wake up with is the mood you stay with until tomorrow. Except that once.

You get out of bed, stretch, get changed, and then grab your wallet. You need to get more supplies. It’s been two months since you last went shopping, and you’re down to your last box of oatmeal.

As you take a step outside, the warm sun on your face feels too hot. You glare at the sun, as if you can make it back down, but it doesn’t work. Your mood feels slightly worse, but you don’t worry about it. You don’t pay any mind to it, and enjoy the nice stroll to the market. But you notice things that annoy you. The lovey dovey couple enjoying a picnic, feeding each other. Gross. The pigeons flocking the rooftops. The annoying voices of food vendors shouting for business. You don’t worry about it. 

You enter the market. Despite being two’o’clock on a Tuesday, the market is jam packed. You sigh, but plunge into the sea of people to head to your usual supplier. You bought from no one else. The others made you mad. 

“Hello, Jane.” You say in a horse voice. You wonder how long it’s been since you’ve spoken a single word. 

“Hello.” Jane said. She was your good friend, sticking by you on the rough days. 

“I need some food. I’ve almost run out.” 

“The usual haul?” She asked. You nod, and she takes you to the back of the stand. There’s already eight bulging bags of food with your name on them. Jane loads them up in a cart to help you get them back home. You thank her, grab the cart, and start wheeling away.

You force your way through the crowd, jostling people. Some people grumble at you, but they all know to leave you alone. Nobody wants another incident. 

As you keep shoving your way through, and man strides towards you. You don’t recognize him, so he must be new in town. You give him your best glare to ward him off, but he doesn’t get the hint.

“My good sir, why do you force your way through? It’s very disruptive, and there are some very good side paths.” The man said. You notice that he’s very tall, with golden hair. He’s wearing a fancy three piece suit. But the main thing you notice makes you smile. The looks of fear from everyone around him. Within ten seconds there’s an area cleared around you, as none of them want to be in the crossfire. The man finally notices the strange situation.

“Oh. I’m sorry. You’re that hermit everyone talks about, aren’t you?” He says, then backs up a step as you growl at him. “Might I ask your name?”

As you wheel your cart around him, you spit on his shoe. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The man leaves you alone as you go home, and everyone gives you a wide berth. The feeling of happiness this morning is gone. You are shaking with rage by the time you get home. 

You wheel the cart in, unload the supplies, and collapse on your bed. The man’s snooty face flashes through your mind. You clench your hands so hard they turn white. You start your breathing process to try and cool down. Three in. Hold. Four out. Hold. It doesn’t work.

You roll off your bed, unable to think about anything but your rage. Unable to see anything but red. You pace the room, trying to keep your mind off it. In a burst of necessity, you grab the cart, and head back to the market.

Tainted Red

You wheel the cart along, the squeaky wheel that usually annoys you providing a welcome distraction. The cracks in the concrete beneath your feet that you usually hate rolling the cart over, you try to hit every single one.

Anything to not think about the plan forming in your head. The usually ten minute walk takes fifteen. When you get there, there are slightly less people, which is a welcome relief. Until you see that same man. You normally don’t like taking the side paths, but you worry about what you’ll do if the man tries to interact with you again.

You skirt around the edges, until you arrive at Jane’s stand.

“Welcome back.” She says in a chipper voice, until she sees the look in your eyes, and the vein throbbing on your forehead.

“Today was a good day. So why do I want to kill mister blond?” You say, voice strained. Jane looks scared. 

“I haven’t seen this level of anger in you since the last… incident. Sit down.” She says, and you obey, sitting on the plush chair she has behind the stand. She grabs you your usual stress toy, and some of the red around your vision lessens. But not enough. The plan is still forming. You keep doing your breathing exercise, and the red clears up more. Until Mr. Blond starts walking towards Jane’s stand. The red comes back in force. You can barely see.

“Hello, Mr. Grimwald. I’m afraid I’m closed at the moment. Please come back later.”

“I didn’t come to buy. I came to talk to him.” He points at you. Your eyes narrowed on his finger, wanting to tear it off. You start to get up to lunge for his throat, but Jane holds you down. 

“I’m afraid that’s not possible at the moment. Please leave.” Jane says. The man, stupidly, doesn’t take her advice.

“Who do you think you are? I’ll have you know that these boots are leather from Paris, costing three hundred dollars a pair. You’ll pay for them, or I’ll call the authorities.” Mr. Grimwald says, and by doing so, seals his fate. You lurch to your feet.

“For what, spitting on your shoes. Stay away from me, or you will be the one that pays.” With that, you go around the counter and walk towards the exit. The man follows you, shouting about his shoes. You ignore him, but every word makes you angier. You can’t see. You have just enough brain control to think one thing. All you can do is tell yourself to wait until tonight.

The Last Laugh

You get home. You remember that. You remember staring at the clock for hours. You remember grabbing the knife, and going back to the market to watch until Mr. Grimwald left. When he leaves, you follow him. He has no idea. He has no idea what’s coming. He had no idea what he’s done. You trail him until the perfect opportunity comes. You don’t have to wait long.

An empty street. Perfect.

A forest to the left. Perfect. 

Him leaning down to tie his shoe. The last mistake he ever made.

You remember the feel of the knife going into his back, and the blood curdling scream.

Then you are awake, hands cuffed behind your back, ankles cuffed as well. You’re laying in a bed. Not your own. You sit up, and notice you’re in a prison cell. There are two guards waiting outside your door. You just sit there until they notice you’re awake. It takes them fifteen minutes and twelve seconds. 

When the guards finally notice, you smile. The rage is still there, but not as much. The guards take a step back from your creepy smile. Then one of them steps forward and unlocks your cell. The other has his gun pulled out.

You stand when they tell you to, go where they tell you too, and sit when they tell you to. A large man with a burly mustache comes into the interrogation room. 

“Make this easy on yourself. We have enough evidence that it was you. Just admit it.” The officer says, and you do decide to take the easy way. The easy way out.

You grin at him. The guards had underestimated you. They hadn’t chained you to the table. You jump towards the officer, hands reaching for the gun. Your fingers close around it and you pull it out of the holster. You could shoot the man. But instead you raise it to your own head.

“This is all my fault.” You say. Then you pull the trigger.

The end