The Pandora Index (Older work)

Red (1)

"Uh Y-yeah." I said, wondering why he had told me that last part. "It's just down th-the street." I mumbled.

"Come again?" He said, as he put a hand to his ear.

I sighed and just pointed down the dark street. I started walking across the street to the waiting store. The old man grumbled something and I heard the truck squeal down the road.

My head felt like it was going to explode.

I had finally managed to get to the store. I let out a relieved sigh. My relief was shattered when the clerk said that the store was closing in ten minutes. I rushed to get as much as I could within ten minutes: five cans of discount baked beans, a few bags of trail mix, a can of iced coffee, paper towels, and two bottles of painkillers. "Should be e-enough to last the w-week..."

From the way the clerk at the pharmacy was looking at me, he must have thought I was a painkiller junkie or something. I probably look like something that just crawled out of a grave. I walked over to the checkout. The redheaded cashier was on her cell phone talking with her friends about a party they had the other day.

I waited for awhile, a sour glare had appeared on my face. She showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. I coughed to get her attention, and her surprise as she turned and saw my face was obvious.

She quickly scanned my items and said, "That'll be thirty-eight dollars and ninety-three cents, please."

I rooted through my pocket and pulled out a twenty, a ten, and assorted coins. Thank god it was just enough or else I might have screamed.

She bagged all my things and I left the store. I felt like a bomb set to explode at the slightest poke. I opened a bottle of the painkillers and swallowed two of them. Unlike the more expensive brands, they don't help immediately. All I could do was wait and hope that it worked soon. I cracked open my canned coffee and took a long drink. I sat down on a bench and let my head hang back on it loosely. I closed my eyes and tried to block out the throbbing pain in my head. I let out a sigh. I finally felt myself relaxing in the cool night air.

An ambulance saw to it that I didn't feel too relaxed. I covered my ears in a desperate attempt to keep the sound of the siren out of my head. I grimaced as the emergency vehicle screeched around the corner, drove past me, and screeched around another corner. I sat there, gripping my head. I could feel sweat rolling of my forehead and dripping off my chin. I slowly stood up and picked up my bags, I started walking in the direction of the path that led home.

"C-calm do-down." I instructed myself. "Y-you're almost h-home, and th-then I can just sit down and r-rela-"

I heard the click of a switchblade behind me. "Alright pal, don't move, I want everything you got on ya."

...

"T-today is just n-not my day." I mumbled under my breath.

I dropped my bags on the ground, pulled off one of my gloves, clenched my fists and slowly turned to face my assailant. He was the same man from before, the man that was arguing with his wife. Except, he had a different look in his eyes now. The argument must have gone sour, and he was probably kicked out. He probably wasn't having a very good day either. Maybe he regretted drinking his money away. Maybe he would regret robbing me. It's a shame none of those thoughts were going through my head. All I could feel was rage right now. The second I turned around he recognized me, and a grin spread across his face.

"Well, well. Look who it is, its the guy who thought he could get away with being an asshole to me on the worst day of my life!" he said, shifting his grip on the knife. I could smell his breath from three feet away, it smelled like shit. "Ok, you heard me. Empty your pockets! Now!"

I stared at him angrily, and took a step towards him. I'm not going to let this disgusting pig of a human order me around.

"Hey! I said, stop moving!" He said nervously. He started to back up. "I-I'm serious, I will kill you!"

I ignored him, he was bluffing. I took two more steps towards him.

The man suddenly lunged forwards and shoved the knife deep into my abdomen, he twisted it, and left it lodged in my stomach. It sat there, a foreign object that had no buisness being wedged between two of my ribs. I've never experienced this kind of pain before. The pain combined with my headache was almost enough to make me pass out. Apparently, he wasn't bluffing. I don't think he expected that he'd have to stab me though. This is why I don't drink, people do all kinds of stupid things when they're drunk.

The man stared at me with a look of complete shock. The light red drained from is face. I stood there hunched over in pain for a few seconds before standing up and carefully pulling the knife out of my gut. It was glistening red with my blood. I looked back up at the man.

The wound closed almost immediately after pulling the knife out. "I've been wounded many times, but I've never been stabbed before. A knife wound feels very d-different from a bullet hole."

The man just stared at me amazed and horrified at the same time, "W-what the hell!" was all he could say.

I chuckled one more time, "Y-you have no idea h- how bad the choice you ju-just made was."

Before he could react, I grabbed his face with my right hand. We stared each other in the eye one last time before his face exploded into a pool of dark red, spotted by chunks of bone and brain matter. I felt a few drops splatter onto my face. The man's headless body crumpled to the ground. A puddle was growing from his stump of a neck. I glanced down at the brilliant red that covered my hand.

I stood there for a minute, relieved that the pain in my head had ceased for a few fleeting seconds before returning full-force. Frustrated, I shoved the man's bloody knife in my pocket, grabbed by bags, and stormed off. Fortunately there were no more delays on the way home. When I got inside I paced around the room like a caged animal before kicking my pile of art supplies in frustration. It splattered against the ten foot long concrete wall like a bright red explosion.

I suddenly stopped pacing. I wearily walked over to the wall, studied it for a moment, and picked up a brush.

"I've found a new project."