Red (prologue)

It’s not that I didn’t think; it’s that I did. And it was that thought that shattered my team and left us here to rot. Ungrateful people passed us. They watched us die and they take it for granted. The color red. I plead for food; they walked faster. I asked for money; they spat on my face. And I asked for help; they beat my back. So we sat and bleed out on the cold pavement of New York’s frostbitten streets in the winter of 2044. There was no escape just survival and I’ve already lost two people from that principle.
To provide I have to steal and to steal I have to leave.
“Syle,” I called with a heavy rasp in my voice, “ Come here and help me.”
Reluctantly she joined me. Syle was a frail girl, only about twelve years of age. She was like a little sister to me and she was my team; we both have dark hair, blue eyes and scared faces. Plus it was her turn to scavenge along side me.
Syle never talked much to the others but she loved to be around me. And as she walked to me her lips remained pursed, her arms were folded, wrapped in long sleeves to hide her blemishes and her hair, as always, had a single bang flowing across her face to hide her scars.
“Let’s go now.” I say as I pulled her along.
Syle stumbled along as a dribble of snot sautéed with a thick red, streamed down her face. I handed her an old rag to help her catch the blood. We resumed our scavenge by first going to venders market. There we surreptitiously pocketed sweet smelling bread, fresh, crisp water, and some candy for later. Once we finished, we scrammed. As we bolted back to the team, we slammed into a man. He carried a beige burlap sac, and wore a mask.
Frightened, by his looks, Syle screamed to me, her wales filled my ears and forced me to charge. And angered and worried she would attract unwanted attention he pulled out a knife, covered Syle’s mouth and forced the blade through her chest. He ran. Time stopped. And all I could do was mourn. I rushed to her body and shook it vigorously.
“Syle…Syle…SYLE… PLEASE WAKE UP…please…”
My eyes burned with tears. My heart pounded against my chest.
“Eris,” A voice called, “Eris, I love you.” It was Syle’s.
She raised her hand and touched my cheek. Then her hand slowly receded down my face and I knew.
“Syle, I love you too, just please, come with me… Syle…Syle…SYLE DON’T CLOSE YOUR EYES…just look at me…just...just…”
I looked at my hands; they were slathered in red, in Syle’s red. Time continued for all but me. I stood up and carried her body. It was drenched with red and tears but not my tears. For she had died, she died crying. I kissed her pale scared cheek, pulled her close and stammered to the park. Where I laid her in a bed of white roses and walked away a hollow shell of myself and forever broken like Syle’s heart.