PINK

19

'There is a fine line between

creativity and crazy.'

She brings her trembling hand to her pounding heart and feels its beats pulsate through her skin, it scares her how hard it beats. A heart attack. That's what she thinks. This isn't how she wanted to die; not in a red room within a twisted family.

Contemplating, she recalls a beautiful scene, one that reflects her desirable death. It begets a small upturn of the corner of her chapped lips, cracked but wet from the excessive tears.

Though this scene brings her joy all she can see is the darkness of her eyelids, no imagery is cast; it's the feeling that brings her such joy, just the intangible feeling.

Distant hollers spread throughout the house and enter her room. She, now wide eyed, shoots up from her almost foetal position on the floor. She is attentive, listening closely, though she knows not to know would make her feel better.

"Fuck you, you... bitches!" She hears Stephen scream, a certain slur is detected. She wishes she had just blocked her ears.

"I need you to help, not, not, help! Fuck!" He stammers. A series of thuds follow his speech then the slamming of the door and screech of tyres on the road. The engine becomes fainter as he drives further. Iara feels a weight being lifted off, like the whole house had a dense blanket doused over it, but he brought the blanket with him.

She hears the door adjacent to hers open. Three consecutive knocks follow, each one soft and done with care.

"Can-" He clears his throat after sounding so raspy.

"Can I come in?"

Iara steps to her feet and saunters to the entrance. Delicately gripping the shiny scarlet door knob, she pulls ever so slightly. A slither of the outside peeks into her room, the red light beaming on the quarter of Dante's peering face. He squints.

"Sorry." She says before opening the door fully, allowing all the red light to radiate out into the hall. Dante raises his eyebrows and signals towards the kitchen space. Iara nods intensely and leaves the room, before the red drives her into the pits of madness.

"I'm leaving this place." She exclaims, still shaky in her voice. Dante places a quick hand on her shoulder. She is startled by the gesture.

"Please don't." He warns, pallid eyes absorbedly peering into hers. She pulls back to shake his hand off her shoulder, but the energy still remains like a stain. She can feel its pressure linger. She continues to strut to the door which is left open.

"Iara don't!" He hollers, voice breaking,

She looks back.

"Why? This is insane Dante. He killed them! He killed your parents or whatever! I don't even know what this family is!" She yells, her voice cracking from the tears that push themselves up into her tired and arid eyes.

His expression drops, more than Iara thought it could. His lips unstick from each other as he gapes in shock.

"Wh- he killed them." He whispers to himself, before running towards the room where Iara knew the bodies lay. Right there, Iara could have left, she knows she can, but something pulls her back to him. She can't leave him alone.

Iara stares at Dante who, frozen, stands before the two dead bodies. Flies are starting to crawl on the rotting flesh; the only sound audible is the buzzing of their tiny and busy wings.

Iara looks up and sees two new frames hanging on the wall near the door frame, one on each side of the entrance. This piece is different from the others that are hung, it's bright and vivid; whilst the others range from dark to coffee brown this one screams scarlet.

"What are they Dante?" She asks, an undertone of sternness.

"It's blood, it's blood, from all the people he has killed." Dante breathlessly says, bending his knees as he squats, hands rubbing his forehead stressfully.

The thought that all these paintings are of the blood splatters of his victims make her violently sick. Stephen's mind was abstract; a psychotic kind.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She silently cries feeling the weight assuage from her pounding head. Her knees collapse, hands trying to cling onto the wall adjacent to her. She lets out a small gasp before falling to the ground.