Don't talk to strangers

Chapter 1

My favorite color is red, always has been. I find something so fascinating about it. There are so many different meanings to red. It can be associated to blood and death much like the color black, but it can also mean something so passionate and all-consuming like love. I never realized how similar love and death are. Death, much like love, is all-consuming. You can leave the person you once were because of both. It's quite terrifying really. Most people don't like to think about death, they see it as an ending and not many people can comprehend that your life will eventually come to an end. Me on the other hand think death is peaceful, a place where all thoughts and worries can be put to rest. No more worrying about death or love.

Ever since my parents died, I don't seem to care much for the living anymore. I used to be the most lively, passionate girl you could meet and now it like I'm a shell of a person. I have a routine and stick to it, never deviating from it. I wake up, make breakfast for me and my sister, have an almost lethally hot shower and go to work. That's it. I very much dislike deviating from my routine, some may call it autism, I just call it my day to day. My normal. Me.

Not many people catch my eye, except this one man. Extremely handsome and looked awfully sweet. Too sweet for me. Every day on the tube I would see him, sat on the chair closest to the doors, reading a book. But it was always a different book. I assumed that he was just a fast reader – later I learnt that was not the case. When we were kids all of us were told by either our parents or teachers "Don't talk to strangers" and we all believed them because we didn't know any better. But if we believed that, no one would ever meet anyone new, it would be a very dull world.

Once again, I boarded the tube with every intent of seeing this mysterious man again, but he was not there. I thought it was just a one off, but this carried on for about 2 weeks. I wondered every day whether he was okay or if something happened to him. The next time I saw him was when he was on the news. The reporters were saying their normal gossip about various scandals about various people that had nothing to do with them. At the end of each broadcast, they would talk about the new atrocities that had gone on in the city, murders, stabbings, kidnappings, that kind of stuff. I normally always tune in to the photos or the descriptions of the people so maybe I could help them it made me feel like I had some kind of value, even though I knew deep down I wasn't doing anything.

It was him. He was the description. He had gone missing, even though we had never said a word to each other, or even exchanged a smile if felt like a chance had been wasted to find someone that I could have a connection with. I should have known not to get my hopes up for a man that I haven't even shared a glance with.

A few weeks had passed since that announcement, I had forgotten about the man on the tube and got on with my life. Like usual I woke up, had a burning shower, and got dressed for the day, but this morning felt different. I had a very strange dream, more like a message. I saw the man from the tube saying "help me" in a very strained voice. The man in my dream was wearing a completely black suit, tares in the arms and legs, with long black hair and emerald eyes.

The dream I had, had only just left my brain. When I looked at my phone, it was 8:30 and I was late to work 'Damn it!' I thought to myself.

I'm never late. Ever. The dream, if you could even call it that, must have messed with me subconsciously. I rushed to the tube station, each free moment looking at my phone to see the time. As soon as I got to the station a tube arrives, I must be the luckiest person alive. I jump on and hope I make it in time. I sit in my usual space, close enough to get off the tube if its crowded but not so close I can feel the breeze from the doors as the train is speeding through the tunnels. I look at the seats by the doors -like it is a reflex- to see if the 'missing man' is sitting there, to my astonishment he was. I thought to myself "this is the day; I'm going to talk to him", Of course I chickened out. Stepping towards the tube doors, readying myself to step back out into reality, I feel a cold hand grab my arm, it was him. My thoughts are going wild thinking about all the possibilities of why he grabbed my arm and what to say to him. My brain was in panic mode. Mustering all the confidence and composure I have left, I speak in very calm and hushed voice considering the situation, "Excuse me sir, are you ok?" he doesn't respond. I ask again "Sir"- he interrupts me and in a shaky voice "help me". I look at him with a confused expression. Suddenly I feel a wet, cold feeling on my arm I look down to my arm and there is blood on it, and it's not mine...