Short Stories For The Bewildered

Red

Alone, but not truly...

Nights of contempt and solitude were enough to motivate myself to leave the house. Living alone was indeed a choice of mine, yet I solemnly wasn't content with the darkness that engulfed me on nights like this.

My ink-black hair was far too long, as it remained caught onto one of the closing hooks of my light blue winter jacket. I contemplated if I should choose an attire more suited for the dark eve; perhaps a black-hooded sweater to compliment the ebony fitted jeans and boots I was currently sporting. But alas, I had spent most of my life blending into every crevice of my surroundings, I wanted something different. Perhaps 'He' liked my jacket.

I could hear my own mind scolding me as I opened and closed my apartment door, and walked out into the desolate city streets. I always sported a grace of damaging innocence-something both men and women felt the need to exploit. Yet I could feel my guard being pulled down, as I enjoyed the night far too much to worry about any impending dangers.

The whilstling of the wind grew prominent, with the chilling breeze washing my face in decadent coolness. The bitterness of the wind left a slight tingle in my temples, but I enjoyed it. Did 'He' enjoy it?

He was watching me now. He always was. I hadn't dared to turn around, perhaps he would be more angered if I had caught him in the act of lurking. But I didn't need to see, I knew he was there.

The luminous light of the street lamps gave the evening an ominious feel, making his silent steps more daunting, daring. Tonight wouldn't be about him, perhaps I had once endulged in the fact that I had a follower-yet now, I felt more alone than ever before.

My steps ricocheted on the concrete sidewalk, and with each step I felt the weight of my past endeavours take my subconscious a hostage. A past of torment and abuse. A past of permanent tear stained cheeks and bloodied lips. A tear pooled in the corners of my eyes and I felt the blows of their physical abuse, aswell as their hurtful words. It was never enough for them, but always enough for me.

I whimpered with a silent wail as the gushing wind picked up speed, blocking the sound of my own terrible thoughts. Would I never be away from it all? All the pain, all the suffereing I felt a worthless being like me deserved.

I began to sniffle and tremble from the cold and my own disdain, before a weighty hand caught hold of my arm.

A car running at a multitude of speed came whooshing past me, with a flurry of a fumes and a revving engine. A disgruntled driver threw out many choice words that rang in my ear, before I could have even processed what had just occurred.

I paused in my surroundings to realise I was at a street crossing, mindless if cars were passing by. I could have died. Perhaps I should have.

A tight grip on my right arm jolted me out of my revierie to realise I wasn't dead. I was in fact, very much alive. I turned around to find my unwanted saviour, and was left breathless by the hooded figure who stood in front of me.

It was him.

He looked at me with empathetic eyes, and I felt weighted by his pity. I didn't need it, but I couldn't reject it. He reached out, rough handed, and wiped at my descending tears.

"No more," He whispered.