The Bouquet

Chapter 1

The entire room was stark white, the lights so bright they reflected off the sterile surfaces, blinding you. Your hands trembled beyond control as your head twitched and jerked sporadically. Something was wrong but you couldn't pin down exactly what it was, it was on the tip of your tongue, the thought dwelling in the back of your head, so close yet so far out of reach. The silence in the room was deafening, setting you on the edge of your seat as you gently began to tap the tips of your fingers against the barren tabletop. You could feel their eyes on you, drilling into your back and scanning every inch of your curled form. They needed you. You didn't know why they left you there, alone amidst your thoughts and the static silence that aggravated you. They needed you, that much you were sure of.

A metal slot in the wall screeched open, slicing through the quiet air. On a little tray, there were scraps of paper and a sealed pack of markers. Instantly your trembling hands snatched the markers from the tray and violently ripped the packaging open, the tubes spilling out and rolling down the table. Automatically you reached for the red cap and yanked it off, quickly scribbling the pigment onto the piece of paper with no rhyme or reason. Soft clicks disturbed the silence again, cap after cap being removed and replaced, removed and replaced in a steady rhythm. The sheet of paper was decorated in swirls of purple, slashes of red, and soft pulls of blue uniting into a composition only you could comprehend at the moment.

You could still feel them watching you, their presence never left you. Your right hand reached out once again for the next color, hesitating as you heard the steel door slowly begin to creep open. One of them had finally decided to come and visit. Your hand clamped down on the green marker and swiftly uncapped it, pressing it harshly into the paper and making quick strokes. He closed the door, in what he assumed to be a gentle manner, but every noise made in the room echoed in a disharmonic likeness. You tried your best to ignore him, eyes burning as they refused to blink until you finished your work. You only stilled when he pulled the chair out beside you, it screeched in an ungodly tone and he sat down; slinging his arm around the back of your chair. He was almost unbearably warm, alerting you to how cold the room truly was. The silence that passed between the two of you was uncomfortable, another brand of quiet you were accustomed to.

"Will you show me what you saw?" He whispered, the tone of his voice deep in his chest as he leaned close. His warmth seeped into your side forcing you to stand up and the chair to screech back. You swept the papers and the tray from the table, their clattering piercing your ears as you snatched another marker. As soon as it was uncapped your hand flew to the blank surface of the table, violently sketching out what you had seen the night before.

Blue, black, and red.

Blue and black.

Black, more black.

Red and black.

Red.

Red.

Red.

And more red.

Your breath came in harsh pants, tears blurring your vision as you forced yourself to keep scribbling down what you had witnessed. Red, red, red, and more red. The silence was deafening and his breaths cacophonous. Red, red, red and more red. Your head was hurting and your heart pounding against your ribs, trying to break free. Red, red ,red, and more red. Their screams still echoed in your mind. Red, red, red, and more red. The gunshots still rang in your ears and the glass still sliced your skin.

They were all dead.

______________

You could remember a time where you were happy and it had long since passed. When you were younger, all you knew was affection and a warm household. You had a mother who loved you deeply and who was constantly trying to find new things for the two of you to do together. Every weekend at the beginning of the month you would go on shopping trips and spend the day free from the men in the household. You had a father who would do anything for you. He had a kind smile and a warm hug, his large hand always engulfing your smaller one when he would walk you to the diner on Saturdays for a burger and a malt. And you had an older brother, the best that you could ever ask for. He would press band-aids to your scraped knees, hold you when you cried, and bike down by the river with you every weekend until the chill of winter rolled in.