Sanguis

Fire.

It was colourful, one of those play zone buildings you go when you're kids. Netting and spongey plastic obstacles, some foam, some slides and tunnels, and screaming children everywhere.

I was there alone. I was standing alone. I don't even think I was playing, just standing, taking in the laughter and vivid colour. I walked forward, ducking my head down to get under a horizontal pole above me. I blinked as I ducked.

When I opened my eyes, he was there.

He stood, noticeably carrying his pride on his shoulders, slightly wavy black hair. My mind flashed back to the day he dyed his hair that colour. I could still see the little hints of purple in it. I remembered when I was so attracted to that. He stank of tobacco.

He was wearing an oversized leather jacket, Iron Maiden shirt and whitewashed straight jeans. His mouth turned up into a smirk. What was he doing here? Then again, what the hell was I there for, standing there?

Suddenly, my mind blacked out, like a random scene change in a film.

Now we were inside a house. It was a living room. I'd never been there before but it seemed strange and familiar. The walls were white. The sofa was white. The TV blasted out a channel I'd never even knew existed. He sat, his arms each side of the chair. The armchair was positioned facing into the room, by the small bay window. The sofa was on the back wall. It faced the TV. I was sat cross legged on the left seat of that sofa.