Crimson Hunger

Chapter 1

He opened his eyes to a blurry image which he ever so slowly recognized as a pair of hairy lips twitching in an intimidating manner and unveiling greenish, crooked teeth decorated with black and beige tartar. All he could hear was a loud, painful ringing paralyzing his ears. His head felt as if it's been pressed in between a troll's giant hands and rocked repeatedly, and his chest was hollow. His limbs and nose were ice-cold and his right side, on which he lay, felt wet, freezing and almost paralyzed.

He licked his chapped lips then swallowed hard. His mouth was dry as if about to crack. The smell of blood, sulfur and burning flesh filled his throat alongside a metallic taste. He shut his eyes for a second and lay on his back before he opened them again to an image still clouded as if he were lying under the surface of clear water inspecting the sky above-a sky filled with grey clouds raining mortar shells.

Clear voices started to find their way to his eardrums, and he wished they didn't. People were screaming uncontrollably as they hysterically ran in different directions while others either stared with their eyes widely open or lay motionless on the ground. To his right, a little boy's traumatized body jolted repeatedly and his mouth ejected blood. Despite that, the boy was calm, completely surrendering to his fate.

"He's my brother," a feminine, husky voice said, as if whispering a prayer from inside a deep well. He closed his eyes, hoping to wake up from the nightmare.

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and he jerked his eyelids open. "Stay away from me," he snapped, his voice hollow, but not as loud as he imagined.

"What's your name, sir?" a woman staring into his eyes asked in a soothing tone.

"Ian O'Connor," he obediently replied, surrendering to what seemed to be the bright side of death.

"Ian," she said, "I am Ada Hawaja, and I'm taking you somewhere safe. You're welcome."

***

Ian's eyes were met with a bright off-white color that made him squint. He touched it. It felt soft and cold. His body was in bliss. Bit by bit, he began to fathom his surroundings, or simply that he was in a bed, facing a dull wall. His body felt as if it were floating on water and his mind, although a bit groggy, was at peace. A soft, warm quilt hugged him so tightly he could make love to it.

"It's about time you got out of bed," he heard a woman say, so he turned around and instantly jumped.

A lady stood at the room's door dressed in white sheets like a ghost, revealing only her face. An oval, slim face that was remarkably beautiful like that of a mythical goddess.

"Is this Purgatory?"

"Prepare thyself for judgement," the lady said with a note of finality in her voice before she turned around and disappeared from Ian's sight.

Ian's lips turned white as if life were sucked out of them. His jaw dropped and his eyes grew wider.

He heard the woman chuckle before he saw her walk back into the room, "Probably worse," she said, "welcome to Damascus!"

Ian's mouth hung open. He was silent and motionless like an ice sculpture.

"Get up! I've prepared dinner," she said, "There is a bathroom to the left at the end of the corridor outside this room. Gussy up and come upstairs."

Still shocked, Ian got out of bed as soon as the woman left. He found himself dressed in a white undershirt and plaid baby blue cotton pants. The room was remarkably small, but enchanting and homey. There was a pink and mint Persian carpet on the floor, the bed was bulky but not very wide and covered with mint and white sheets. There was an oil stove in the corner, but no fire was burning inside, and beige curtains draped over a wide window above the bed.