A forest green landscape floods my vision. Deafening thunder fills my ears, making me think that they might start seething blood. Unyielding lighting surrounds me, consumes me. The pouring rain hits hard against my face and body, feeling like tiny, ruthless knives. The scenery is much to familier, I try to think back to when I might have been here before, but, it remains out of reach.
I feel as though I might collapse to the ground and just bleed crimson till I die. So I could forget the pain, guilt, and suffering. So I could never act on my selfish pride again. So I could feel new and fresh, so I could be reborn and do it all over again.
But, I can't stop.
I can't stop running, am I running towards or away? For that I do not know. The wind is unbearable, so is my fear of this situation. Though I will never admit it, I am trembling with terror. I have no idea where I am. No idea why i'm even here in this hellish place.
I look around me to find a swampish terrain. Swamp. Déjà Vu hits me hard, leaving me in unwelcomed shock. Unfortunately for me, the memories I yearn to know of this foreign place do not come to me. But, my exhausted legs keep on going, towards something unknown to me, and possibly unknown to all. I fix my gaze in front of me and, to my surprise, I see a shaded figure in the distance.
Sprinting towards me.
Disturbing moans of woe reach my ears, still something close to whispers.
"Don't leave me... Don't leave me..." That simple sentence strikes overwhelming fear into my heart. I absolutely despise how familiar the ghostly voice is."Don't leave me. Don't leave me." The figure gets closer and I study it. I quickly regret that action. To my horror, the figure is extremely deformed and overall grotesque. Its skin is horribly pale, inhuman. Its limbs are unnaturally thick as twigs, you can clearly see its deformed bones, sticking out like pins. But its face, oh god its face! Florid and disgusting, the head is gigantic compared to its meager body, scarlet and swollen.
Terrified I attempt to turn around and run away from this monster, but my legs still seem to not be my own. Its horrifying moans get louder.
"DON'T LEAVE ME. DON'T LEAVE ME." The once whisper turns into a deafening screech. Garnet bile pours out of the creature's mouth, nose, eyes and ears, drenching it. It picks up speed and I can feel my heart practically beating out of my chest, filling my ears with something other then the monster's groans. It is now barely two feet away, and hell, I can see its bizarre features more clearly. It reaches out its boney and brittle hand, reaching for me. A pair of bloody eyes stare straight into my tainted soul, eating me alive. Right before it grabs me, it lets out another fatal whisper,
"Brother."
I wake with a start, my chest heaving. I grip the sheets, trying to calm myself down. I can tell my breathing is still erratic. Sweat rolls down my brow and all over my body, leaving me to feel unclean.
"Another damn nightmare." I curse to myself, resenting my mind. I have been getting nightmares of him for decades now, but I can never forget him nor forgive myself.
I have never told a soul of my dastardly deed, not even whispered it. I have let myself drown in guilt, pain and sorrow ever since that horrid day. The day I let my selfish pride get the best of me. The day I came home with a limp, impish body in my arms and fed my family lies. The day I killed my brother.
Simply thinking on it fills me with sorrow and guilt.Doodle was his name, it was the name I had bestowed on him. I chuckle to myself, remembering what was the best time of Doodle's and my own lives. The times I was kind to him, when I was a good brother, but, there was little to nothing to remember. I was almost never kind to him. After his death I was never the same, I was eaten alive by depression and guilt. Hallucinations taunted me everywhere I went. A little voice used to tell me it wasn't my fault, that I couldn't help it, but I quickly discarded the thought. It was my fault and it will always be my fault. I forced him to live up to my unrealistic expectations. I was the one killed him. I was the sinner. He, an angel forced to live through hell.
My family, especially my mother, were devastated when I brought home the Doodle's tiny and bloody body. I was too weak, too prideful, to selfish to tell them that I was the reason for his death. That I had mistreated him for all his life, up into the very end. So, I told them that when we were running home, he collapsed and started to bleed. That I was innocent. They believed it, everyone did. Some would question, some would ponder, but, they never found out the filthy truth.
I shuffle out of the comfort of my bed and I let out a long sigh. After stretching briefly, I make my way lazily downstairs to the green-draped parlor, still cool from the night before. My eyes still heavy with sleep, I look out upon the dead yard, the one I grew up in and played in. The buds on my mother's flowers were threatening to bloom, the branches on the trees behind the house were still bear from the vicious winter before, and the sky remains a depressing gray. It was that exhausting time between winter and spring, the time when you can only hope for winter to end and spring to bloom.
I could almost feel the freezing winds against my body, chilling me down to my bones and making me wish I was anywhere else. I look at the grindstone right where the bleeding tree used to sit, where the exotic and beautiful Scarlet Ibis once sat. My mind immediately goes to Doodle, how much he and the Ibis were alike. Following this is the undeniable thoughts of his death. Depressing and suicidal thoughts fill my head and I can't help but look to a knife in the kitchen, long and shiny, just waiting for me. I quickly advert my eyes, it would be extremely selfish for me to end my suffering.
I will force myself to live in unyielding pain for the rest of my pitiful life, for Doodle. I must suffer for my sins, I must pay for what I did to my dearest brother. I will take my due punishment. I must withstand the force of the terrifying nightmares I have each night, because I deserve it. I deserve all the pain and suffering I receive. I have resolved to relish endlessly in my swamp like existence, just like where the Scarlet Ibis belongs.
YOU ARE READING
Scarlet Memories
Short StoryThis is an unofficial squeal to the short story "The Scarlet Ibis" by James Hurst. All the characters belong to him. "Scarlet Memories" is a short narrative I wrote in my English class for a project, it is not the best, but I am still proud of it (k...