A Chilling Whistle

Heat... So white, but dark... Suffocating... Alone... This pain... Don't look at me... It's much better this way... I won't eat that... I'm tired... It's this pace... I wanna scream... I'll be there... It was always my favorite flavor... No mirrors... Maybe it won't burn...

Everything was silent, as normal. But the usual laugh composed of confused feelings and sadistic humor invaded the moment. The man was observing the white wall like a narcissist would his own reflection.

"Whistle if you hear me," he whispered.

He didn't get an answer.

"Whistle if you hear me!" he yelled and silence took over the place.

He turned his head a little until he could look back over his head. There was a sick smile on his face and the veins on his forehead were sprouting.

"Come... Get close to me. I promise I won't hurt you this time. You know I always get the worse part." He rubbed a side of his head, where there were some stitches.

"What do you want?" said the voice of his friend.

"I just want your company... Whistle if you hear me."

He whistled just to please him.

"Good! Now listen to my words. The day has come. Don't you feel it!? Me and you are destined..."

"But I don't want to!" interrupted his friend.

"Shut up! You don't know what I'm talking about."

"Of course I know..."

"I said shut up!" he yelled and head butted him.

"No, please! You promised that you wouldn't hit me." The fear was evident in his voice. He never wanted that abusive and sickening friendship.

"Then listen to me."

His friend nodded, scared. He continued.

"I know that you hate that damn stain with our color. But, don't you want to be free?"

"I wanna eat..."

"The hunger can wait. I'll give you what's on your mind. Just observe and don't intervene. Can you do that?"

His friend wouldn't dare to answer. He was staring at the wall, now stained.

"Whistle if you think you can do it," the man suggested and waited in silence for a few seconds.

His friend whistled just in time, for someone knocked at the door and entered the room.

"Demian, come, please," ordered the nurse.

"He is not here," said the man, looking at his friend by the corner of his eyes just to make sure that he wouldn't intervene, his fists full of tension.

"Oh... then who needs me to check his stitches?"

"Rengo..." he responded.

"Ok... Rengo, allow me to examine you real quick if it's fine. It's just a routine for your own good."

The friendly and smiley nurse got close to him. But she lost the smile, amazed to see the thumb size slit on a side of his head.

"What happened!?" she exclaimed. "You're bleeding! You're hurt!"

"It's nothing."

"I will have to sew you again..." said the woman, putting a hand in one of her pockets and pulling out her working tools, including the sewing scissors. Then she hesitated for a moment. She looked at his eyes and tried to put the scissors away. The passion for her work had betrayed her unexpectedly in a sudden moment. A quick whistle gave her a paralyzing chill.

Demian wanted to scream and stop him, but he didn't get enough time. It happened too fast. Rengo took the sewing scissors and quickly stabbed the nurse in her neck while holding her mouth shut with a hand. Her body fought without any success and stopped moving a minute or two later.

"What have you done?" asked a scared Demian, his eyes wide open.

"Not now!" yelled Rengo and hit him on the head, right on the bleeding wound. "Whistle if you're with me! Whistle!

His friend whistled again and again, desperate and terrified. When he calmed down, the man walked out of the room smiling. At last, he was leaving behind the walls that used to be white. He could taste his freedom. He knew the hall to his exit very well. The murder weapon was clutched in his right fist. His own hot blood emanated from the wound on his head.

"We're free..." he whispered.