Red Rose

Chapter 1: Red

Golden rays of sunlight beamed down through green leaves that swayed in the early autumn winds, illuminating the forest. Lushes of green moss covered the forest's floor and rose bushes in full bloom filled the gaps between the ancient trees. Birds sang and bees buzzed, hopping from flower to flower. Ripped through the forest, a long dirt driveway rested with a young woman named Red walking along.

Red's movements were unusually sluggish and rigid; with each step, her muscles protested in pain. She ignored protesting as she continued down her path swinging her sword playfully in the air. Sweat and blood dried on her skin, making her clothes uncomfortably stick to her body. Blood sloshed between her toes, the rotten liquid ruining her new canvas shoes. To protect her from the putrid stench of decaying flesh that she was doused in, cotton balls were awkwardly shoved up her nose. A sigh of annoyance escaped Red's lips, as she examined the sleeves of her old red hoodie, putting the sword swinging aside. The rims were wet with blood and her face dropped as a piece of decaying flesh lay wedged between the sleeve's folds. Quickly, she flicked away the brownish green piece of meat where a small white maggot munched away. Disgust scurried across her, Red suddenly fully aware of every inch of her body. Taking a deep breath of the crisp air, Red continued along her way, silently cursing about zombies as she did.

At the end of the driveway, an old cabin designed like a swiss chalet settled amongst the foliage. The roof was covered in moss and the wood was dark with charred engravings of protection. Each window was accompanied by red painted shutters with flower baskets hanging below. Beside the home, a shabby, dilapidated shed engrossed by greenery stood. Red made her way to the shed, grabbing the garden hose and itching to get the crusted filth off her. Protruding from the shed's wall was an orange rusted hook that Red casually threw the hose over to hold her makeshift shower head. As she untied her shoes, droplets of blood and crud sprayed the moss-carpeted ground. Zombies were the worst, most horrific, disgusting creatures of pure decay. The next time that old bat wanted her to handle zombies, she was just going to burn it all down, Red swore silently to herself as she turned on the water.

Standing before the cold constant stream of water; Red, stupidly, pulled out the cotton that barred her from the stench. Mere seconds passed before she was bent over with her hands on her knees, debilitated, cursing herself for being so foolish as to remove the cotton. Tears rolled down her flushed cheeks, her eyes burning as she gagged. The putrid smell of decomposing corpses clung to her as she forced herself to move towards the makeshift shower.

Submerging herself into the icy constant water, the shock of the temperature knocked the air from her lungs as her body numbed. Shivering, Red became drenched, struggling both mentally and physically to pry her soaked clothes from her body. When she did, leaving her bare, Red dropped them in a pile with a wet thud. Blood, guts, and other gore washed from the sopping pile of clothes, like streamers in the wind as the water flowed through them. She continued this until she was completely naked, exposed to the frigid water and whip of the soft autumn breeze.

Turning the rubber-coated valve to the hose, Red cradled herself, trying to lock in the warmth from her body. Her lips were blue and she still reeked of death, but she wasn't coated with the aftermath of the carnage from earlier. As she turned off the water, a feeling of unease from being watched glistened over Red, and instinctively reached down for her sword. Standing bare, Red surveyed the area, trying her best to stand tall, to look intimidating. She was naked, exhausted, and by herself with only a sword to protect her. None of that mattered because Red knew she was going to be victorious, she always had.

Through the kitchen window, Red saw two figures: a small feeble one, and a tall broad one that made Red move into action. Visitors never came to the Rose cabin, mainly for two reasons: the shit ton of wards and other protections, and then the fact that she was a bitch with way too many guns. With her teeth chattering and her hand gripped around her sword, Red made her way to the front door, wanting whomever it was to see.

Taking the medal handle, designed like a rose, Red, dramatically, swung it open. Before time could continue, Red's sword was pressed against the throat of the broad tall one. Admittedly, he was cute with a good strong looking face and long healthy pretty hair. Most importantly, he was at her mercy and that caused a wicked smirk to encroach upon her face.