Cherry Lipstick
Cherry Lipstick
Debris of massive yet hollow porcelain Santa was scattered on the snowy ground. Black bold letters on his belt were screaming “My Chris”. Other plastic letters were awelessly paunched out. Who would mess with Santa’s belt? Who would carry home plastic “MERRY CHRISTMAS” letters? Who would carelessly and sloppy place red lipstick on a porcelain doll? Cherry lipstick.
He knew. With waterproof glue in one hand and shreds of Santa in the other, he was trying to put him back on his feet. Porcelain feet. Ungrateful deed when missing pieces.
The fibers of his woolen gloves stiffened; mottled with the glue. The scarf was gagging him, being pressed onto his mouth, forced by the wind. Moonlit cheeks, blushing from the coldness, were slightly covered in white ice crystals; hoarfrost. The shattered Santa was pedestalled again; one eyed Santa with a broken smile and crooked nose.
He sneaked back in the house; relinquishing a grip of the porcelain sculpture. His mom's red, freshly dried hair was the first thing he saw. She was playing with her locks, buttoning up the leather jacket. Black pantyhose had a tiny hole, peeking underneath the short skirt. She didn't notice.
"Mom, it's freezing cold outside, where are you headed?"
"Bloomingdale's", she answered, picking up her glittering purse.
"Can I go with you, please, I'll help choosing.. Gifts. Just like the last time", Alwyn asked rapturously, casting a smirk. A mischievous one.
"No, sweetie, you tagged along last week, you'll go some other day, okay?"
Her long red hair was crawling on Alwyn's face as she kneeled down to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Moist red lipstick left an imprint on his face.
"What should I get you?" She popped, grabbing the door knob.
"A wrist watch, a golden wrist watch".
His eyes were sparkling, following her until the car finally vanished in the mist. The nine year old didn't want toys; they were winnowed on the navy blue, shaggy carpet. In pieces. He wanted to go with her; to feel enraptured and blissful again; to feel as if on cloud nine once again.
"There will be no New Year's celebration for the NYPD. The "Red Lipstick" killer has stricken for the seventh time. A 40 year old man was found on the shores of Lake Placid last night, with a bullet to the head and the killer's trademark - red lipstick on the victim's lips", a special news bulletin and the reporter's voice smothered the silence in the house.
He switched the channel and let Ash and Misty catch all Pokemon creatures. Gotta catch 'em all, right? He didn't watch. He made a circle with his sleeve on the blurred window and kept staring outside; waiting for his mom. It stroke 9 PM. Then she saw her; the purse was glistening in the night and her red hair looked magnificent under the streetlight.
"Where's my watch, mom?" Alwyn asked jumping around her.
"I have something much better, it's in the tru-.."
Before she could finish, Alwyn ran out. The gift reposing in the trunk made him feel enraptured and blissful again; just the way he wanted. He couldn't look away; he couldn't blink. He didn't want to miss a damn thing. He was staring at the redness of the trunk, inhaling the smell of metal.
"How are we gonna call him, mom?" He quizzed ecstatically.
"Number 8?" She smirked, giving Alwyn a red cherry lipstick. "You know what to do."
He proudly took the lipstick and left the red moist print on the dead man's lips. Just like the last time.
He knew. With waterproof glue in one hand and shreds of Santa in the other, he was trying to put him back on his feet. Porcelain feet. Ungrateful deed when missing pieces.
The fibers of his woolen gloves stiffened; mottled with the glue. The scarf was gagging him, being pressed onto his mouth, forced by the wind. Moonlit cheeks, blushing from the coldness, were slightly covered in white ice crystals; hoarfrost. The shattered Santa was pedestalled again; one eyed Santa with a broken smile and crooked nose.
He sneaked back in the house; relinquishing a grip of the porcelain sculpture. His mom's red, freshly dried hair was the first thing he saw. She was playing with her locks, buttoning up the leather jacket. Black pantyhose had a tiny hole, peeking underneath the short skirt. She didn't notice.
"Mom, it's freezing cold outside, where are you headed?"
"Bloomingdale's", she answered, picking up her glittering purse.
"Can I go with you, please, I'll help choosing.. Gifts. Just like the last time", Alwyn asked rapturously, casting a smirk. A mischievous one.
"No, sweetie, you tagged along last week, you'll go some other day, okay?"
Her long red hair was crawling on Alwyn's face as she kneeled down to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Moist red lipstick left an imprint on his face.
"What should I get you?" She popped, grabbing the door knob.
"A wrist watch, a golden wrist watch".
His eyes were sparkling, following her until the car finally vanished in the mist. The nine year old didn't want toys; they were winnowed on the navy blue, shaggy carpet. In pieces. He wanted to go with her; to feel enraptured and blissful again; to feel as if on cloud nine once again.
"There will be no New Year's celebration for the NYPD. The "Red Lipstick" killer has stricken for the seventh time. A 40 year old man was found on the shores of Lake Placid last night, with a bullet to the head and the killer's trademark - red lipstick on the victim's lips", a special news bulletin and the reporter's voice smothered the silence in the house.
He switched the channel and let Ash and Misty catch all Pokemon creatures. Gotta catch 'em all, right? He didn't watch. He made a circle with his sleeve on the blurred window and kept staring outside; waiting for his mom. It stroke 9 PM. Then she saw her; the purse was glistening in the night and her red hair looked magnificent under the streetlight.
"Where's my watch, mom?" Alwyn asked jumping around her.
"I have something much better, it's in the tru-.."
Before she could finish, Alwyn ran out. The gift reposing in the trunk made him feel enraptured and blissful again; just the way he wanted. He couldn't look away; he couldn't blink. He didn't want to miss a damn thing. He was staring at the redness of the trunk, inhaling the smell of metal.
"How are we gonna call him, mom?" He quizzed ecstatically.
"Number 8?" She smirked, giving Alwyn a red cherry lipstick. "You know what to do."
He proudly took the lipstick and left the red moist print on the dead man's lips. Just like the last time.