A Kiss of Crimson

Chapter 3

After bathing and dressing, Greg bundles up in a heavy black coat. He pulls the belt tight as he opens the front door and a blast of chill air assaults his pale skin, blowing through his mop of vermillion hair. With a flick of his wrist, Greg grabs his favorite red scarf and steps out into the crisp autumn wind.
He looks down at the scarf in his hand. It is worn and starting to unravel. The stitching is uneven and the black letters embroidered on it are crooked. A tear comes to his eye as he runs a thumb over the capital G remembering the day so long ago that Stephan had given it to him. He speaks softly to himself "A handmade gift... I told you I would always treasure it... and you."
Greg looks up shaking off his reverie and wraps the scarf around his neck quickly. He smiles at the soft warmth against his face as he goes down the few steps to the street. Looking up at the morning bustle as people clamor about their day and from place to place, he hesitates. He looks left up the cobblestone path leading into town, then to the right, leading to the country estates, no doubt the direction that Stephan had gone. With a sigh he turns to the left and shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his coat as he joins the rabble scurrying down the cobblestone road.
Walking along with his head down and a bit to the side, Greg squints against the wind that whips around and threatens to tangle his hair, even as short as it is. He looks up at the sky, gray and dreary, doing nothing to impove his somber mood. His feet shuffle as they carry him along. Suddenly he is bumped roughly, causing him to stumble, his foot landing in a muddy puddle as he catches him self against a frigid brick wall. Greg looks up angrily, ready for a fight but a young blonde women turns back looking concerned. Her hair glistens, seeming to catching the only sunlight on an otherwise dark avenue. "I'm so sorry! Are you alright sir?" She says, her brilliant blue eyes searching his as she reaches out with a white gloved hand to help him up.
As Greg reaches up reluctantly touching take her hand, an angry voice stops her. "Get away from him Bethany!" A tall man pulls her quickly away from him looking down at Greg with a look of disgust. "Just look at him, he's nothing but a filthy beggar. Covered in mud, that horrid rag around his neck... " He holds the young lady protectively and sneers at the red-head. "Can't even be bothered to cut your hair? You won't get any money from us, now move on and stop bothering decent folk!"
Greg is too shocked to react and looks down at the mud now covering him. Bethany apologizes to him with her expression but doesn't speak as she is lead away. The tall man leans down and kisses her softly as they walk making her whole face light up forgetting all about the lonely, dirty, man behind them. He whispers something in her ear and her bubbling laughter fills the street echoing off the nearby buildings.
Greg watches the couple for a moment as they saunter down the road, his arm comfortably draped over her shoulders, hers hugging his waist. His snarl and easy anger replaced by a sense of emptiness and longing. Greg reaches up to touch the scarf around his neck as unshed tears shine in his eyes. Closing his eyes tightly a moment as he fights the emotions well up inside of him, he takes a deep breath.