Vermilion

A crack of lightening lit up the dark sky, illuminating the dense atmosphere in one bright shine of light. Mere seconds later, thunder rumbled, reverberating off anything that was within a hundred mile radius, leaving a dull echo in its wake. Rain pounded heavily against the sidewalk, drops of water bounding with the impact that it made on the concrete. Tree branches danced in the rough wind, slapping against the houses; brushing over the painted surface leaving shallow scratches, tainting the walls and roofs. The wind howled, screeching as if it were some mythological creature. The coldness of the air, cut through anything, chilling anyone who was out straight down to their very core.

Mothers' who were out shopping with their young children hurried along the sides of the roads in haste to get to the warmth that their homes provided. Dogs barked at the bustle of people out the front of the territory of their yard, leaping up onto the fences, nipping, yelping at whoever passed. Some growled at thin air, barking at what wasn't there.

As a cloaked figure walked along the darkened, mist covered road, he could hear her laughter rebounding off everything. It was a bright, happy sound, so light and joyful. His whole body turned, searching for where it was coming from. But, to no avail, he couldn't place the origin. His eyes darted, trying to find her, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He didn’t recognise the place, he didn’t even know if he’d been there before it was that blurry. The heavy mist that stuck to the ground didn’t make it easier. As he walked, it parted like a pair of grey-coloured drapes, allowing for him to pass through, but would close back up seconds later.

Mumbling a quick apology to the people that he bumped into in his search to find her; he was cursed at, yelled at for being slow, for holding up everyone who were trying to get by.

Passing by a street light, his eyes subconsciously followed the direction of the light, and upon what he swore he saw, spun around quickly. The person whom he thought was standing there, flickering, disappeared into the tendrils of mist. It looked like her. She had the same red-tinted blonde hair and was wearing the same dirty white dress that he’d been seeing her in. Once he gathered himself, he continued on his way, ignoring the whispered words that he could hear. Mostly his name would be said.

Alexander… a soft melodic voice whispered, her voice seemed to be strained, borderline raspy, come to me, my love…

Digging his nails into his palms that were shoved deep into his coat pockets, Alexander tried to not listen. But, the more he ignored, the louder the voice got. So distracted with her voice, he didn’t realise that the pathway had broken in two, a slight hole where the part was made the concrete uneven, and he ended up tripping. Alexander couldn't get his hands out of his pockets quick enough in the time between actually tripping and landing on the path. His body bounced slightly upon impact. The side of his face took the brunt of the injuries, his cheek ended up scraped, gravel rash stinging his exposed flesh, his coat got scratches on it, and he was sure that he'd have a bruised hip. Alexander could feel her touch, her soft, smooth hands caressing his cheek, tilting his head up to look at her. But, once his eyes fluttered open, there was no one there. His cheeks turned cold as the feeling of her vanished.

Scrambling up to his feet, he scanned his peripheral vision for any hope that he actually saw her and it wasn't a figment of his imagination. Follow me her voice hummed. Looking up in shock, he saw her. Standing there, her whole body seemed to be flickering in the shadows that were casted from the street lamps. Her head was tilted to the side, and to Alexander, the whole world seemed to quicken around him, while she slowed right down, his attention focused solely on her. He took cautious steps in her direction, afraid if he moved too quickly, she'd disappear. As he walked, she did as well. The closer that Alexander got to her, the further away that she moved, and a smile played on her lips, one which didn't reach her eyes.

Alexander kept following her. The wind lashing at his exposed skin, cutting into the flesh like a cat-of-nine tail whip, the rain pounded down, soaking his clothes right down to the bone. But, he was still determined to see where she led him.

“Wait –” Alexander tried to call out, but the moment that he had opened his mouth, she had vanished once more. With an anguished cry, he sunk down heavily onto his knees, letting all the emotions that were bottled up out; it was maddening. He couldn’t put a finger on it, though. Fistfuls of his hair were tightly grasped and pulled sharply, his breathing stopped momentarily as a heart-wrenching sob poured out of him. Over-spilling the barrier that he’d forged a long time ago.

“Please…” Alexander pleaded, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes as if pressing into them would elevate the pain which he was feeling due to the constant disappearing act which she was doing. "Stop," he sobbed. Flashes of her face danced behind his closed eyes, taunting him of what he couldn't have. Alexander tried to reach out, to see if they could be grabbed, but like her, they were soon gone and all he was left was a black abyss.

He stayed on his knees for quite some time before he came back to reality. Slowly, Alexander made his way onto his feet, careful of the pain in his hip which was radiating outwards, pulsating. Another flash of lightening lit up the sky, and, Alexander could swear that he saw a name being marked out in the sky by the white branches of the lightening. Dahlia.

It was the direction of the flash which had him most interested, he looked directly south of where the writing appeared; a cottage built on top of a hill. That was where he headed off too next. Alexander couldn't rid her out of his mind. As heard as he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about her angular face, her soft skin complexion marred by dirt and what seemed like blood, as well as her eyes. There were a hypnotic green, a gaze that he could get lost in forever.

Gravel crunched under his heavy feet as he climbed the path which was haphazardly constructed into the side of the hill. Avoiding loose rocks and any other object which shouldn't be there, Alexander began to think of all the things which he could say to her. All of which seemed too immature and far too simple for he to say to Dahlia of all people. He couldn't outright say that he'd been seeing her everywhere. It was irrational, and such a ridiculous phrase would have him thrown into the nearest padded cell with a bonus straight jacket, complimentary of the doctors which would treat him.

No.

Alexander had to be more discrete, more subtle than that. Dahlia seemed unattainable. A dream conjured up within the depths of his subconsciousness, to tease him, keep him on the edge of his hypothetical seat.

A creak echoed through the empty cottage as he opened the door slowly, so as not to frighten anyone who may be on the other side. Dahlia as Alexander hoped. The floorboards protested his movement across the floor, groaning as Alexander walked in further, kicking the door shut with his foot.

His mind begun to play tricks on him, casting shadows which shouldn't have been there, blood flickering on the walls - reappearing and disappearing sporadically - he saw what looked to be a murder scene. Only, his mind didn't show a dead body on the floor but, more so a girl hanging on the rafters by a solitary rope around her neck. Blood ran in rivulets down her hands from the gashes in her arms, the razor still stuck in her flesh. When he tried to walk over to that girl, it blurred out with every step which he took, until it completely vanished from sight, the blood and the shadows also disappeared along with it.

Grabbing the nearest object, he threw it - a dust-covered, matured half-empty bottle of whisky - at the wall. Upon the impact, it shattered into thousands of pieces of varied size, liquid splayed out everywhere, getting over him as well. The alcohol staining the wallpaper in one large patch, trailing downwards to the puddle which accumulated there along with shards of the glass; the sight of that didn't placate the emotions which were eating away inside of him.

On his way to collect the nearest vase, he noticed that there was a note laid on the polished surface of the desk which was pushed against the only window in the room. Bending down to pick the note up, he unfolded it carefully, mindful of the fact that it could tear at any moment.

"17th August, 1976.

Dear whomever may read this,
If you are then I am no longer here. I am sorry for the troubles which I may have caused to you, if I am an acquaintance, friend, lover, family member. But, I can't be here anymore, I can't explain as to why. They told me too ... To save him ... I can't fathom the pain I have caused to you. This is why I eradicated myself from here.
Please understand.

I did this for you.

Forever more,
Dahlia.

Alexander's eyebrows pulled together into a deep frown, his skin wrinkled as he scanned over the note again and again and once more. But, the more he looked, the more pained that he got.

Dahlia wasn't real.

She had never been real. She'd been an apparition. A sick projection of what he wanted, searched for in a woman, but couldn't have.

He felt his body pull in multiple directions as the anger ran through his body, coursing deep within his veins. Alexander's arm lashed out and swept along the desk, clearing everything from the top of it as he kicked out, hearing the wood crack under the force that he'd executed. That, again, wasn't enough; he needed to feel a better release, to actually feel his emotions escaping.

Searching the cottage for something to drink that was within sight, and was pleased to discover the liquor cabinet that was carefully disguised between books in the bookshelf. Alexander opened the first thing that he grabbed, opened it and took a large mouthful. The vodka burned as he tried to swallow it, but he wasn't even done before it all came up again. Wiping his mouth once he'd finished, Alexander grabbed another bottle, this time smelling it before he drank any. Slamming the bottle down onto the shelf, he sighed in content, but the force of which broke the thin slab in half, the entire collection of bottles stumbling down; some smashing, some remaining intact. Different coloured liquid pooled together, mixing in a lethal cocktail which if drunk - he wasn't that out of his mind enough to do so - it'd be enough to kill someone.

It was that thought which drove him into picking up one of the pieces of glass and pressing the tip into his wrist. Rationality wasn't on the forefront of his mind as he dragged the glass along the pale flesh. The bubble of blood at the wound and the subsequent pooling of it turned into a steady trickle as he drove the damn thing deeper into him, wincing at the pain which Alexander was causing himself. He just pressed harder, making another cut, this time higher up his arm, longer than the first.

Alexander didn't hear the door being opened. He didn't hear the gasp of the owner of the house, one of which hadn't been haunted by Dahlia's spirit which still lingered, but knew that someone did as this was the third man she'd found passed out in her house from the last several years. White dotted his vision due to the blood loss, his fingers and arm stained deep red, the same red which was now pooled on the once clean floor. Alexander didn't hear the sirens of the ambulance in the near distance, he could barely feel anything. Not emotionally, but physically.

He became woozy, nauseous almost - Dahlia still at the centre of his attention, even after all that he did to stop that. The glass fell from his fingertips as he started to lose sense of reality, and when he collapsed onto the hard ground, he was passed out cold.

Her name etched into his skin forever, where she'd remain forevermore.



Years had passed since that night, but it was still a recurring nightmare for Alexander. He wasn't allowed out of his bedroom. After spending a year at a rehab for his attempt at taking his own life, he was fit to return home, but not to leave. It wasn't as if he wanted too - not that he had a choice - but, he was afraid. Of what may be out there still. Lurking silently.

Alexander was still shaken up over what happened; nightmares plagued him every night without hesitation. He was lost, not knowing what to do about what he was feeling. If he were to tell someone, he would be sent back to rehab, possibly a mental institution never to see the light of day again.

He was still angered at being saved. If he had of been left there, then he'd be able to join her wherever that she was, able to see her permanently, rather than a figment of his imagination. He would finish what he had started, but all dangerous objects were already moved from every room in order to prevent just that.

The puckered scratch-marks on his arm a reminder of the woman that he managed to lose even when he wasn't hers to begin with. An unrequited dream which he was still chasing, it was painful to say the least. I won't let this build up inside of me... he'd written a thousand times over on every surface available that he could write on. Paper, walls, anything, it started off in neat cursive script, but as the thought continued, it became messier, more illegible and harder to make out. I can't make her real... Was soon added. Those two sentences were written well up until he died of a heart-attack, the cause unknown.

But, her name was written on the piece of paper which was found on his lap.