Blood Red Lies.

“Mister? Are you alright?” A child named Sylvester asked a man sitting by himself on the corner of a street.

The man looked at the child with a look that was indescribable. The child backed away, unsure whether to even breathe or blink. The man, he had one left eye of ice blue and one right eye of blood red. Pain radiated from them, but the child was partially intrigued. The man looked homeless because of his filthy clothing. The boy decided to sit down beside the man and ask his name.

“Belial,” The man replied.

“My name is Sylvester. Why are you sitting all by yourself mister Belial?”

“I have no conscious. I have no where else to go. No purpose,” The man said, looking the child in the eyes. The man had an urge to finally tell his story. Tell it to this little boy who was next to him, staring with cautious curiosity.

“May I tell you a story?” The man asked the child. “No one else knows this but you.”

“Yes,” the child answered, nodding, “Please.”

“Very well.” The man replied and attempted to find the right words to tell of his wife Eshana, her death, and his choices.

***

The day was so dreary and wet. Dark grey clouds had been spewing rain the past week. My shoes were wet and I ceased to react. Damp strands of hair covered my eyes and I ceased to react. I would have no more luck pondering my decisions inside then I would outside in the weather. I could make out a small bench in the near distance and forward I walked. As I sat I noticed just how soaked I was becoming from the rain. Disregarding that thought, I paused and emptied my mind for a moment.

“Belial?”

I faintly heard a voice calling me, I ignore it.

“What are you doing, you will become sick out here in the cold. Belial?”

I feel myself being slightly nudged, I ignore it. I heard no voices or movement and I was content. While opening my left eye a few seconds too early, I seen a familiar face standing over me with worry and concern. Eshana. Her touch was not so soft this time. She was the one who should not be out in the rain. The doctor had given me strict orders and she had no idea. The pain she was feeling, she did not know why, but I did.

“I am deep in thought my Eshana, and I would like to be left alone thank you,” I murmured.

“Deep in thought? Looked more like you were dead,” She replied.

I sat up quickly and chocked, glancing back as I fluidly walked away. I sighed, knowing that leaving her out here was the wrong thing to do. I could make out a faint coughing in the distance and in turn, my legs moved faster. She had no idea of the pain that was ahead of her, my wife. The sores would soon be visible. I sat down upon the chair and waited for her to return. I drifted off again until a familiar voice awoke me.

“Belial? My side, Belial look at it!” she said agitatedly. It was starting, Necrotizing Fasciitis. I examined the red sore on the curve of her torso.

“Just a rash, my love,” I lied coolly and dismissed the problem. “You will be fine.”

It wasn't that I was not concerned for her, I loved her at first, but the love sort of dwindled away and now, I couldn't explain to myself how I truly felt about her. No guilt, no remorse for not telling her what the doctor had told me. Who was I kidding? I felt terrible, but I knew deep down there was no way she could survive this. Medicine was not advanced enough for a cure. I was being a selfish human, but she looked elegant. My hands gripped the bedroom door, opened it and I plopped myself onto the bed. Parts of her would soon rot and turn black.

Days passed and my prediction was coming true. My wife's red sores had turned purple and multiplied. Some starting showing up below the knee of her right leg and along her arm. The original sore, upon her torso was now starting to cave in and turn as black as a corpse. She was confined to our bed with the sickness and I now slept upon the chair. She was in great pain and I knew at any moment I could take her misery away by killing her myself.

***

“But mister, the doctors might have been able to do something for her. Don't you think?” Sylvester asked.

“Only soothe her pain a bit while she rotted. But I didn't want that for her, drugs would not work forever and either way it was not possible for her to avoid death,” the man answered, knowing the boy wouldn't understand his reasons thoroughly.

“Wouldn't you want her to be in less pain?” Sylvester looked up at the man with confusion.

“It would be unnatural. I did care for her, in my own way, but she needed a taste of reality. She had been brought up with everything she could have ever wanted, she'd told me. She was careless for other people other than myself and it was not fair. I myself grew up with nothing and I have felt real pain. My mother and father were beheaded when I was just 16 for a crime they did not commit. I slaved my life away until I finally got off the ground and made a life for myself. I know that if any other man were in my position they would do anything they could to her her pain away, but I'm not like them. It's complicated, don't you see?” the man questioned.

“I think so, maybe,” the boy replied, unsure of his answer.

***

Her condition worsened with each day. New sores appeared everywhere on her body. The right shoulder, her left cheek, both breasts and her left thigh now harboured sores. I found the sores would turn black within a week of showing up. She could barely eat and her already thin frame became skin and bones. Her weight around 95 pounds. She could not eat a lot of food, her hands too weak to even feed herself. I thought I could always stop feeding her and then organs would surely shut down quickly.

“Belial? Am I going to die? The rash,” She paused, catching her breath. “It's not a rash.”

I paused.

“You will not die my love, the rash is slowly leaving.” I lied, again.

“Okay, just don't,” another breath. “Leave.”

“I'll be here by your side through everything,” I said to her. I was not lying about that.

That night, like many nights I found myself watching her as she restlessly slept. She still wore the necklace I gave her before the wedding. I'd always liked admiring it around her neck and her porcelain skin. That red dress worn on our wedding day was something I would never forget. So fair she was, and now I am left admiring what will soon be a rotting corpse. I contemplated slitting her throat this second and ending her pain. I could have, but I didn't.

I could see her approaching death with each day. A hole pierced her cheek and on parts of her body bone started to peek through her skin. I was amazed that she was still alive. I could barely stand to look at her, morbid and pitiful with a smile that did not exist anymore. I felt myself starting to weep. I departed from the room in a hurry. I walked rapidly away from the house. The rain was here again, the same clouds were above my head and soon I came to the same bench I sat upon a couple months before.

“I can't do it. I can't stop it. I can't do anything!” I screamed. “She'll die anyway! I must end her misery!”

I fell to my knees in front of the bench. In a frenzy, I felt my right eye burning, such an excruciating abrupt feeling that I tumbled over onto the ground and just lie there holding a hand over my right eye. Breathing heavily from confusion of this pain, I came to peace with killing her, I had to. Tears didn't cease streaming down my face, but I had to put her to sleep, forever.

My vision was off, but I pulled myself together and returned home in a rush, seeing everything in a red tint. I grabbed a knife, a large one and started up the stairs. There she was. A lot of her body was black and caved. She must have been 85 pounds by now. She refused to eat anything the past couple days and only accepted water here and there. I walked towards the bed, my feet feeling heavier with each step. I looked down at the corpse.

“I'm so sorry,” I whispered as I raised my hand with the knife.

It sliced easily across her throat. I felt the jugular vein burst while the metal glided through her. She managed to slightly open one eye while convulsing to death. Everything ceased quickly. Within seconds it seemed she was lifeless and I ceased to react. I must have stood there for hours over her until I finally worked up the nerve to leave the room.

***

“Did, did you make her a funeral?” the boy looked so shocked and nervous.

“I left that night and never returned to the house, ever,” the man said with shame. “I do not know if anyone ever found the body, or would even care to look.”

“M-mister? Why is your right eye red?” Sylvester was pale.

“I think this is my punishment, for waiting so long to kill her. I could never explain why really, and I do see everything still in that same red tint. It will never leave, just like her soul,” the man replied.

“Do you think a doctor could fix it?” the boy wondered.

“I refuse to go. I will live with this for the rest of my existence. The eye reminds me of her and her red dress. I swear they are the same,” the man choked. “Colour.”

A tear trickled down the mans cheek as he rolled up his right sleeve and spoke the next two words.

“I'm next.”

The boy was speechless. A large purple and black sore caved in a large amount of his arm. The boy looked into the mans eyes and sat there with him. He listened to heaving and weeping, he ceased to react.

Reviews

[Autumn Rain]

This is a very good idea that has a lot of potential.

[soliloquy]

Very creepy..... Yet realistic. I like the perspective of the boy in the story. Nice job of weaving a story together.

[NymphetamineDame]

Thank you sir.

[soliloquy]

You are welcome! What inspired it? It's very creative.

[NymphetamineDame]

I believe it had to do with Shakespeare's Hamlet. I wrote it for English class last year in university.

[Rob Santana]

You have a very unique way of writing. I like it. This story was dark and unpredictable. I'm attempting to write my first story real soon. But with work it makes it hard to concentrate on it. Your 2 stories have given me motivation. I look forward to reading more of your work.

[NymphetamineDame]

Yes, sometimes it is hard to find the time. I may try to write a bit more over the Xmas break after my exams. I'm very pleased that my stories have given you motivation.