Rojo
1/1
By a river, on the east side, there is a restaurant by the name of Rojo and it is just that, from the top of the cereza viewing tower to the brick sidewalk, and into the building itself.
Red is, by far, my favorite color, and so I go by Miss. Escarlata. Here I am known, but not for correct reasons.
“¡Señorita Escarlata! ¿Cuál la voluntad él sea este vez, amor mío? ¿Vino tinto? ¿Quizás pasteles pequeños? ¿O quizás –”
“Miss. Escarlata! Hello, again, love! What will it be this time, my darling? Red wine? Perhaps a small pastry? Or maybe – ”
“Apenas una tabla para dos, y vino rojo, Carlos.”
“Just a table for two, and red wine, Carlos.”
“Sí, por supuesto, Señorita Escarlata.”
“Yes, of course, Miss. Escarlata.”
And this is how the meeting goes; Carlos, bothering me into buying something else that I won’t really eat. He wonders why I always sit near a potted plant, (that ends up dying.)
Where else am I going to stash my food? I refuse to eat such garbage. The things humans will settle with these days…
It’s almost midnight before he comes in, the rat. Mendel Valor, with his pants pocket thick with my money.
“Hola, Señorita.” He purrs, and sits down across from on the cobrizo plush seat. “How much for tonight?”
It’s the same amount every night. I tell him that.
“I’m sorry, Señorita,” he plays with his mustache, “But I cannot offer than much tonight.”
“What?!” I’m no longer invisible, now. Every person in the restaurant is looking at me and Valor with curious expressions.
“Calm, Escarlata, calm,” he chastises me. “You’re earning yourself some attention.”
“I did double this week. I deserve my pay.” I’ve calmed myself now, resorting to running the scarlet tip of my index finger around the rim of my wine glass, never thinking of drinking it.
“I know, I know,” he whispers, fiddling through his large wad of cash. “And will get it, my lovely, next month.”
I pause, my head swimming in a hopeless anger. Next month, nothing; I want my money now.
I see only blood, flowing through his fragile veins. Making his arms blue with the vines of life that course through the flesh, and that’s it.
Teeth, jugular.
In, out.
I rip the gold from his hand, and I’m gone.
I leave behind a crimson corpse on flush furniture and Rojo in the darkest of nights.
Red is, by far, my favorite color, and so I go by Miss. Escarlata. Here I am known, but not for correct reasons.
“¡Señorita Escarlata! ¿Cuál la voluntad él sea este vez, amor mío? ¿Vino tinto? ¿Quizás pasteles pequeños? ¿O quizás –”
“Miss. Escarlata! Hello, again, love! What will it be this time, my darling? Red wine? Perhaps a small pastry? Or maybe – ”
“Apenas una tabla para dos, y vino rojo, Carlos.”
“Just a table for two, and red wine, Carlos.”
“Sí, por supuesto, Señorita Escarlata.”
“Yes, of course, Miss. Escarlata.”
And this is how the meeting goes; Carlos, bothering me into buying something else that I won’t really eat. He wonders why I always sit near a potted plant, (that ends up dying.)
Where else am I going to stash my food? I refuse to eat such garbage. The things humans will settle with these days…
It’s almost midnight before he comes in, the rat. Mendel Valor, with his pants pocket thick with my money.
“Hola, Señorita.” He purrs, and sits down across from on the cobrizo plush seat. “How much for tonight?”
It’s the same amount every night. I tell him that.
“I’m sorry, Señorita,” he plays with his mustache, “But I cannot offer than much tonight.”
“What?!” I’m no longer invisible, now. Every person in the restaurant is looking at me and Valor with curious expressions.
“Calm, Escarlata, calm,” he chastises me. “You’re earning yourself some attention.”
“I did double this week. I deserve my pay.” I’ve calmed myself now, resorting to running the scarlet tip of my index finger around the rim of my wine glass, never thinking of drinking it.
“I know, I know,” he whispers, fiddling through his large wad of cash. “And will get it, my lovely, next month.”
I pause, my head swimming in a hopeless anger. Next month, nothing; I want my money now.
I see only blood, flowing through his fragile veins. Making his arms blue with the vines of life that course through the flesh, and that’s it.
Teeth, jugular.
In, out.
I rip the gold from his hand, and I’m gone.
I leave behind a crimson corpse on flush furniture and Rojo in the darkest of nights.
♠ ♠ ♠
I was forced to use Microsoft Word translator because my search engine is screwed up. :file:My extent of the Spanish language is "Hola" and "Rojo".
PLEASE do NOT critique me on my Spanish. The English is underneath, just read that.
Comment? It'll help me out, tons. :)