Story Jots # 12 – Signal Red

I’m bitten…

I will become one of them any minute. It can’t end like this. I promised. That day he took them from me. That monster, Roșu. I called him Red. He was the first one and started all of this. I called him that because it was all I could see when I thought of him. And it was all he wanted. Nothing, but red. Red everywhere. To feed his parasitic reign. An eternal starvation for existence and undying life sustained by the veins of human prey. Prey fooled by his dark fluence of sultry words and reverie. Like it did when he stole my family. It was his bloody thirst that started this hunt. Started my journey to find and destroy him. But, now I need him. I must stay alive a little longer. I have to signal Red. For a choice. A choice my loving husband and dear daughter never had. If he gives me that choice, it could be my last chance.

to be continued…

The Red Journal – Emotional Handicap

Need a recap? Please visit The Red/Black Journal Page

Saturday, 8:00 A.M.

Any second now Ethan would be pulling into the curb with his third degree primed and ready to go. This made Sarah’s head pound even harder as she stood outside her apartment building anxiously awaiting the barrage. It had been just over twenty minutes since she had returned home from Scott’s loft apartment. In that short time she had managed to grab a shower, put on some clean clothes, and throw some food down her throat. It was a piece of whole wheat toast that was not doing its intended job of settling her stomach. The more she thought about how the follow-up conversation would go after her brother-in-law’s stern text, the faster the tiny vein in the middle of her forehead would involuntarily throb. As the wince left her tired eyes, she spotted the Monte Carlo appearing from around the corner. Another throb.

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Story Jots # 11 (a) – Red Door, Blue Cadillac

Well, we’re home. This is me.

Hey, sweetie. You awake?

Oh, right. Of course, you’re not. You had that last drink now, didn’t you? With a little something extra from me. I knew you couldn’t say no. None of you do. My looks are a curse, I swear. Anyway, let’s go in… shall we?

A man lifts a young woman out of his blue Cadillac and shuffles her half-limp body along with the weight of his own toward the front door of his house. She is wearing a short black dress that sparkled each time a streetlight caught her sequins a certain way. She was semi-conscious. She had no shoes, no purse, no phone, and because her makeup had long melted away you could tell she was half the age of the man she was now draped over. With her petite frame shifting over his shoulder with a step, her head drifts next to his. The man smiles and whispers something into her exposed ear.

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A Shade of Ash # 38 – I Mist That Feeling

Ah, the old misty stroll. The weather around here lately has been damp. This past Tuesday was no different. As soon as I left the house to begin my journey I was met with mist and scattered droplets of rain. It made me eager to carry on. There was something about the atmosphere it was creating. With each step I took, I was transported back to different times of my life that felt similar. The feeling was reminiscent and familiar. Not long into my walk, I found myself standing at the head of a stage. A stage is a word we use for a wharf here in Newfoundland and Labrador. So, technically, I was standing on what we call a stage head. There are several words you’ll find in our very own Newfoundland dictionary that are for us interchangeable, but that’s another post for another day. Anyway, there I was. Taking it all in and absorbing the essence of a lazy Tuesday evening loving life and what it has given me at that moment. Then, Poppy had to poop and ruin it.

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