The Red Cell

I hate this. Out of all the shitty side effects of this fucking curse, this is by far the worst part. The red. Everything, all the time, just red. The sun, the sky, the grass. Red. This is new though, from what I can tell, it’s only been about a week that the shift in the pigment of my eyes has changed. Time is…hard to keep track of when you don’t sleep. It doesn’t help that the red apparently gives me superior night vision, so I can’t even tell if it’s night or day.

“Please…please let me go.” The man with the claws digging into his chest begs, tears streaming down his face.

What would I give to see a sunset; the glowing yellow-orange hues, mixed with the deep, dark navy blues. Bright green grass--hell, I would settle for dead grass.

Oh, and smells, I would kill for the smell of the dew in the morning--coffee. I sigh internally. Oh my god, I forgot about coffee. Chestnut brown, steaming, the smells of roasted jubilee and caramel. Now all I smell is flesh. Rotting, like musty mold in a rain-soaked wooden attic. Putrid.

He stops crying now. He’s still there though--his mind that is. I can see it. His eyes still have that little bit of “soul” in them. I wish he would just let go, it would be much easier for everyone. He’s still gripping onto the claws of the monster. I think he’s trying to pull them out.

OH and taste. I honestly don’t remember the last time I ate anything. It has to have been weeks. I’m honestly not sure how I’ve survived this long. I wonder if I can even die. Sometimes I wish I could--would, but alas, there’s not much I can do about it now. You know what I would love though? A granny smith apple.

I definitely understand what you’re probably thinking, “he hasn’t eaten in weeks and he’s craving an apple?” I know, it sounds crazy, but if you were in my shoes--which I don’t recommend, I’d like to hear what you’d be craving. Meat just ….doesn’t interest me anymore. However, a ripe granny smith, verdant, sour, tart, that taste that makes your mouth water just thinking about it.

He’s gone now. He’s let go, his hands dropping lifelessly to his side. What a waste. I still don’t understand how this happened. Why did some of us become this and the rest became lambs to the slaughter.

My body lets him drop to the floor, no more struggle. He hits a nightstand on the way down and a framed photograph of him with his family crashes to the floor, glass shattering and spreading by my feet.

I had a family once. A wife and kid just like this guy. I’ve blocked out those memories for the most part, no point dwelling on what I can’t change. I’m a passenger in this horror show of a body. The best decision I ever made was running away before I could hurt them. Or at least, that’s what I wish I would have done. It's what I've convinced myself I did.

I stare down at my hands, dead, looking black and decrepit, frost bitten, veins pulsing out of them like necrotic talons ready to fall off. Blood drips from the fingers and nails that have become tools of sharpened destruction.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The drops of blood fall on the happy family below.

I am sorry.

There’s a crash in the closet on the other side of the room.

Please God no. Please don’t let there be anyone in there.

“Daddy!” A child, no more than five years old, runs out towards where his father's body lies motionless.

Of course. Why would I think that God would help, there is no God, at least not here.

I can hear myself snarl. Drool, dribbling down my chin. What’s left of my teeth, having been either punched or smashed out of my mouth by other lambs, clench together, straining and splintering from the pressure of my jaw.

Luckily, the mom grabs the boy before he can run too far but it’s only a matter of time. Why haven’t I started moving though?

The red pulses in my eyes, almost as if there’s a part of me left, holding on, stopping the massacre from continuing.

I take the opportunity to try and speak, try and tell them to escape. I garble something that sounds like, “run” but they don’t move.

I start to step towards what’s left of the shaking family. I can’t stop this from happening. I can buy them a few seconds though, but that's all. I can feel the monster inside me overpowering me.

Each step I take, I can hear the wood creak, like a sick tempo leading to an unfortunate crescendo.

There’s nothing left I can do. I let go. I’m sorry.

My legs start to run towards them, chaotic and hungry, the sound like a bowling ball crashing down a staircase. The mom puts herself in front of her child, shielding him and bracing her back for the inevitable impact. My hand raises. I can feel my heartbeat in the cell in my head, the walls quaking. However, my hand remains up in the air, quivering. I try to focus on remembering my own family. How it destroyed me when my wife did the same to protect our child. How I couldn't stop myself.

I try again to mutter, “run”. This time it comes out just clear enough for the mother to seize the opportunity. She grabs her son and bolts towards the door with him in her arms as fast as she can. I can’t hold the beast any longer, it’s just too strong. The feeling is like an anvil, too heavy to lift off my chest.

The beast lunges at them, their screams filling the room like an opera singer hitting their final note. Music to the monster's ears, nightmarish to mine. I close my mind to the execution but there’s no screaming. Well, there’s something, but it’s more of a guttural animalistic screech. I open my mind back up and I can feel something protruding out of my back. I can feel it.

“No! The father shouts to his family, "Get out of here!”

Oh my God… he isn’t dead.

I can feel the man pull the axe out of my back.

Swing again! I scream, even though I know he can’t hear me.

My body turns to face the man, bleeding profusely from the wounds in his gut, but his indomitable face stares directly into the bloodshot eyes of the monster facing him.

He screams, not out of fear or anguish, but resolution. A roar that bellows from deep within him as his hands raise the axe, readying himself for a final blow.

I lunge at him and he catches my body in the chest with his axe. It sinks in. Blood rises and sprays out of my mouth like a sprinkler, black and red bile misting through the air in his direction. I can taste the blood. My body falls to its knees.

Coughing, I stare up at him. The look on his face. A look of triumph, having saved his family, having defeated the monster that threatened to take everything away from him. I’ve never been happier.

The blood red fades from my view, as crimson liquid streams from my eyes. I can feel my heartbeat slow and normalize. My mind feels empty--as if I’m finally alone in here. I take in a deep breath, choking on the blood pooling in my throat but savoring the wafts of dew and chill coming from the open window; a cool spring sunrise peaking it's way through the torn curtains. The room isn’t rose colored. It has hazelnut wood floors and green effervescent walls. Such beautiful colors.