Red Room

RR40 The Red Scarf

           

At first, everything was peaceful. She was playing in the snow while her parents looked on. A funny looking snowman was starting to take shape but the girl was quite proud of it. She ran over to her father and begged him for his bright red scarf, her favorite color. He laughed lovingly at his daughter and handed it over, not minding the cold as long as he could see her being happy. Running back over to the snowman and only tripping once over her short legs, she wrapped it around its neck; he looked perfect, to her at least.

Then she was in her room on the top floor. She had her little dolls out and was playing a game with them. She grew bored and looked out of her window at the still standing snowman. She grinned as she saw that the scarf was still tied around its neck, even though she had placed it there a week ago.

Her next dream was then in a room full of people, strangers to her. They weren't normal though, something was off. The little girl walked up to them and tried to get a reaction from them, but they were as still as soldiers. They were soldiers. She retreated into a corner, scared and frightened as they only stared ahead with dead, empty eyes. Their silence was deafening.

The little girl was now in a cell and it was cold. One of the soldiers was standing outside, his face expressionless, but she wasn't as afraid of them anymore. She knew that as long as he wasn't around, the soldier wouldn't hurt her.

Now standing in a large room next to him, she felt that her hands were sticky. She looked down and saw a tiny blade, its width matching the marks on the soldier laying on the ground. The red scarf around his neck matched the color on her hands; she had killed the snowman.

What seemed like a moment later, she saw more red, all around her, coating the still bodies lying on the cold floor. She looked to her left, to her right, and saw death looking back at her in all directions. She felt herself moving through the room, regret in every step until she stopped in front of one of the fallen. The ebony dark skin now stained a sickening red glistened back at her as her heart filled with sorrow and regret. Hesitation was her death, and death was once her friend; she was once her friend, and she was now death.

She was older now and the girl couldn't take it anymore. She felt as if she needed to escape but was terrified. She pushed down her fear and tried to escape the compound; she failed. Fire, electricity, then the feeling of nothingness that she was now used to.

Next, she was running until she couldn't anymore, and then found herself in a familiar yard. She looked for her beloved snowman but he was long gone, as was the scarf. She blinked, and then found herself in her childhood room, the dolls still on the floor, covered in dust. She looked around and saw that the walls were starting to bleed, running red. A hauntingly familiar laugh then echoed around the room, it was him. She cried as she ran, looking around frantically, as if that could save her; her crying turned into screams when she reached the ground floor and slipped in a puddle of blood. She fell and came face to face with one of her friends, a friend she couldn't quite place in her terror but associated him with an iron suit. Dead glassy eyes were staring back at her, blood still pumping from the brutally slashed throat.

Sobbing, she struggled back to her feet, hearing him breathe somewhere behind her; she screamed as she burst out of the front door, screamed for help, someone, anyone, and then he pushed her and she fell, again. She fell next to more friends, dressed in red, white, and blue, one clutching a bow, and one with a hammer. Raising her arms to protect herself her tormentor, she screamed in helpless terror.

She pleaded, and she begged, she didn't even know if he could hear her, but she did, she did until her voice was gone, and he never said a word.