Striking Blue

Crimson Blood

There was nothing on my mind. There is no way this is her.....but the blue eyes! I inched closer to the body and bent down beside it. Tears welled up in my eyes. She was, oh god....was, she was my best friend. Her skin felt cold under my touch.

Suddenly, voices. Oh my god. My heart started pounding in my chest, my lungs started to cram up. I choked and sprang up from the floor.

I was really close to the door. If I tried, I could make it. I put my foot in front of the other. The voices. The voices got louder. One more step. Louder. I was tearing up. No no, one more step...come on.

Suddenly the door flew open and the lights turned on, as I hid behind the door. In came a girl of thirteen maybe. The same blue eyes, her sister. Hands over her mouth, a blue contact lens dropped to the floor. She stood there, staring at the body in front of her. 

I shook myself awake and tiptoed out the door. As I slid behind the stone dividing between two neighboring flats, the sister looked back sensing disturbance. I noticed the neighboring fat's door was also ajar and slid inside. Fixing the door shut, I sighed in relief. I turned and froze.

In the dim light, was the silhouette of a man. Only this time, he was not on the floor like the other bodies, he was sitting on a chair, staring at me.

My parents took the stairs all the way up, panting as they opened the door to our flat. But I wasn't there. Not in any of the rooms. The balcony door was open and my cell phone on the floor inches away from the door.

Lights. The sister had switched on the lights. That means the power must be back on I felt for the light switch and turned it on. My eyes struggled with the sudden brightness.

Panic rose up my parents' veins. My mother's thoughts ran....she must have gone upstairs to see the flat....too many murder novels and that girl cannot see that her best friend was not murdered....it was a suicide...clearly. My mother was still chasing her wild thoughts when my father grasped his heart in sudden pain. My mother turned back from where she stood, just in time to see her husband collapse to the ground.

It was a girl, not a man. But the sight was any less displeasing. She was staring at me with her dull lifeless eyes from the chair to which she was tied. Her head was shaved bald and her eyes blue. All this blue was blinding me. I was wondering, now, if I was seeing things. She wore a plain white tank top which was the only part of her rid of crimson blood.

Across the white was written in blue ink that matched her eyes with an eerie exactness, the words that snatched the life from my insides.