Encounters Anthology

Red Velvet

Through a valley of broken bones and right after a river flowing with the tears of pregnant widows who didn't know whether to be happy about their abusive husband's death or scared of the unknown that followed - a child washed his sister's blood stained clothes. The stains could not be removed, the blood had gotten hold of every single cotton fibre and it was a hot day, therefore the water was warm. Everyone knew that you could not wash away a bloodstain in hot water, it had to be cold, but this child had no knowledge on tasks only women knew, his sister could probably do it but she wasn't there to help. He had been there for hours, washing and scrubbing, tears gently sliding into the widows' river adding to the pain and confusion.

A soft touch on his shoulder stopped him from the mantric scrubbing. The touch traced down to his hand telling him to let go of the once white dress. The hand took hold of his and led him back through the valley of broken bones, he looked back and saw the water embracing his sister's dress and taking it to a place of warmth and love. The child kept walking with this stranger as a guide. The stranger was barefoot leaving traces of blood in every step taken. The child wondered why the stranger didn't flinch every time the bones cut her feet, he wanted to ask if it hurt but instead silence took a hold of him.

The journey seemed timeless by the sun's reluctance to hide, but once they reached what the child assumed to be the stranger's house the sun finally went down. They sat by the chimney and for the first time, the child saw the stranger's face. She had short black hair and big black eyes outlined by smudgy blue paint, her lips pink and thin. If anyone else had seen her eyes they would have called her a demon as they were empty and craved blood, but the child, he saw kindness in them, salvation. He thought that one glance into them could teach you the secrets of the world. The stranger kneeled down and put the child's feet into a basin with warm water, she tenderly washed the blood dripping from his feet, hurt from walking shoeless through the valley of broken bones. The stranger's feet were perfect, not a single scratch.

The stranger laid the child down on a bright red carpet and she let him slowly fade into sleep. That night the child showered the carpet with drowsy tears, tired and loving. The stranger watched the child through the night, protecting his dreams from death and despair. She sat down in an old rocking chair and sang a melody only known by the mythical muses of gods. But she was no muse, so how had she learned such sounds? How was she able to produce that feast? It was impossible to know, she was a mute. When she was a child she was sold again and again, consequence of her birthplace. One time she decided to stand up for herself, but her owner retaliated by ripping voice box. Those sounds were produced from her broken and sewn soul.

The next morning, the child was woken up by a warm wave from the sun. He was back by the river, bloodstained dress in his hands. He knelt by the tears and started, once again, to scrub and wash. At the end of the day his hands were bloody and now it was impossible to know if the bloodstains were his or his sister's. Nevertheless he kept washing and scrubbing, crying. He didn't know anymore why he was washing that dress. He had forgotten it was his sister's. He was stopped by a stranger's hand.

She led the child up through the valley of broken bones and when he looked back, widows' tears had washed the dress away. He kept walking and noticed that the stranger had no shoes. Her feet were bleeding and he wondered if she felt pain. They reached a small cabin haunted by lost love and found love. They went inside and sat by the lit chimney. The stranger placed the child's feet inside a basin filled with warm water and started washing his bloody feet. The stranger was fine; her feet clean from any pain or scars. The child realized that he was the one without shoes. He took a look at the stranger's face and noticed a tattoo on her lips. He couldn't understand what it said but he did understand that it was a gift.

The stranger laid the child on a bright red carpet and let him sleep. He cried all night. She sat on a rocking chair and sang a melody. She took the child's face and gently kissed him on the lips. She whispered into his left ear and laid next to him while singing of forgiveness.

The child woke by the river. Dress in his hands. He scrubbed. She grabbed his hand. He left. The dress drifted. She washed. He slept. She sang.

WAKE

DRESS

SCRUB

HAND

LEFT

DRIFT

WASH

SLEEP

SING

The night before his sister's dress was filled with blood, the child was a man. The child had a gun. The child was a killer and a lover. The child wanted forgiveness through his acts. Thought he couldn't control his hand. The child grew cold with the touch of his knife. The child had control but believed he didn't. He searched for an answer, but instead he found darkness in himself. He wanted to be life, but all he brought was death.