Red Paint

Red Paint

Broken vision and rattled hearing. Her legs began to shake as the fear rushed to her brain. She held her breath, sensing a cold wind coming. The carefully prepared food was still sitting on plates untouched as the crash in the window interrupted their dinner. Glass shards covered the ratty carpet. Bright red paint splashes painted the walls and broken furniture. A small boy was lying lifeless in the middle of the dining room. Feeling the blood rush from her face, she fell back, tripping on the small end table. Her thoughts bounced back and forth faster than she could process them. She looked down at her shaking hands, letting out a gasp as she saw the red paint dripping down her arms. She tried to remember what she had touched when she heard the weak mumbles of a man. She froze, trying to figure out where it was coming from. She heard him again, but this time it sounded like he was singing.

She followed the voice down the hall. Stepping gently, the deep voice began to get louder. She stopped in front of the door and leaned in looking through the small crack of light coming from the room. Carefully she nudged the door allowing her to see the man leaning over a woman. His blood-stained hands cupped the woman’s face resting his head on her shoulder as he continued singing. She wasn’t sure what song it was but it sounded eerily familiar. The man looked up. As he saw her the pain melted from his eyes as rage took its place. He tried pulling himself up but when he did, she could see where he had been stabbed in the stomach. Allowing his intestines to slip further onto the floor. Tears of pure anger started to pour from his face. His soft singing voice turned into shrieks as he yelled out to her “Why!” Over and over again.

Her face was just an empty stare as he fell onto the woman who now looked more like a mannequin than a human. Her small eyes looked down at her hands. The long hunting knife swung from her side. The once silver blade now covered in sticky red felt hot in her hand. She turned around frantically looking at the pictures on the hallway walls. There was the man holding the woman, a small boy in front, and next to him a young girl. She fell to the floor grabbing her head. Rocking herself back and forth. The voices began to speak again. She knew she had no choice. Taking the knife she held it to her throat. The voices getting louder. Then at that moment silence surrounded her. All she could hear was the sound of her own skin splitting open. As the life drained from her neck a small smile crept upon her face.


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