CiNDEReLLA DReSSeD iN YeLLOW WeNT UPSTAiRS TO KiSS HeR FeLLOW
She had been perfect until her junior year of high school. Perfect face, perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect eyes, perfect teeth, perfect lips, perfect legs, perfect body, perfect personality, perfect smile, perfect laugh. She was perfectperfectperfect. She was running for student council president and she was a shoe in for prom queen and she was an honor roll student and she was a member of the volleyball team and the soccer team and the track & field team.
She had the perfect boyfriend. He was always by her side, his fingers laced in hers. He always gave her the perfect gifts and he always showed up at her door with flowers at the right time. He knew what type of chocolates she liked best and he laid his coat down to prevent her from walking in the mud. He saved her a seat in the cafeteria and sat and held her for hours on end when she cried. He was the best boyfriend any girl could ask for, and he was all hers. Forever and all of time he, said.
He lied.
She's crying and gasping and bleeding and she's frantically fighting the men lifting her away from the now crunched up piece of metal that should be his car. She's screaming let me go let me go let me go please please please don't take me away, stop, stop. She's covered in red and she's completely unrecognizable and her right arm isn't supposed to bend that way and she's crying hysterically, her salty tears burning the wound on the side of her face and she screams until everything goes black.
Redredredwhite.
When she wakes up nothing is red anymore. Everything around her is white. The walls are white and the curtains are white and the sheets are white and her gown is white and everything is whitewhitewhite. She hates white, she hates monotony, she hates uncolorful areas. She screams and in come some people dressed in white, white, white, no more white, where's the red, the red, bring the red back, bring it back, bring it back, bring him back—she screams and kicks and doesn't feel the syringe jab into her arm until she falls limp and everything goes black again.
She wakes up in the whiteness again, drenched in a cold sweat. Next to her is a tray with a glass of water and two pills. She glances around nervously, her pretty blue eyes darting from the snowy white curtains to the blank white walls and she want to smear them with redredred. Her eyes fall on the pills and they rest there and she reaches out with a frail, pale arm and takes the pills in a quivering hand. She grabs the water, throws her head back, pops the pills in her mouth, and swallows.
And for days—hours—weeks the cycle continues. She sleeps, she stares at the walls, and she dreams. She dreams of his brown hair and his blue eyes and his perfect smile and his perfect everything and when the medication wears off she's too worn out to care about the white anymore, she just wants to sleep, to dream, to be with him for a few precious hours, to feel his hands in her red hair again and to feel his soft blue eyes connect with her shocking violet ones.
She wakes up, takes the pills, stares at the walls, and then sleeps. She can't recall eating or showering or talking or doing anything, but she knows she's doing so because she isn't starving and she isn't dirty and she remembers people visiting her and coaxing words out of her. Those activities are so dull that she lumps them in with the whitewhitewhite walls and she continues to live, to breathe, to exist in the never-ending whiteness.
One day she wakes up and the pills aren't there.
Her hands twitch and she scratches her arms and her eyes dart all around, looking for the pills. Where'd they go, where'd they go. She begins to breath heavily and then she hears a noise and she looks up. There's a bed across from hers and it must be new but still it's white and there's someone in it and he's looking right at her with piercing green eyes and his hair—his hair—
Redredred.
She stares at him like he's a alien and he stares right back. Suddenly the whiteness has been broken and now she's staring at glittering green and bright fiery red and she remembers his blue eyes and his brown hair and suddenly they seem dull compared to the boy's across from her. They continue to look at each other and she notices that she's not sweating or itching or twitching or hyperventilating for some odd reason.
The door enters and the woman dressed in white enters and sets down her pills and her glass of water and Kairi swallows them without a second thought. The lady in white then walks to the green eyes boy and gives him the same pills. He remains impassive, staring at her as if she has something on her face. The lady leaves and everything is silent.
She sighes as she feels the pills work and the colors dull and she's comfortable again—
'Hey.'
She blinks and looks up at the boy. She arches a brow and points at herself, as if to ask is he's talking to her.
'Yes, you. Is there anyone else in here?'
She looks around.
Nope.
'What's your name?' His voice is deep and smooth and soothing and she could listen to it for hours.
She opens her mouth and then shuts it. She can't remember the last time she talked. Can she talk anymore? She licks her chapped, cracked lips and then opens her mouth again, releasing a hoarse cough before she speaks.
'K-Kairi.' Her voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper.
The boy smiles.
"I'm Axel, but you can just call me red."
Redredred.
Redbloodbleedingcryingscreamingit'sallcomingbacksheneedsmorepillslesscolor—
Kairi screams.
BY MiSTAKe SHe KiSSeD A SNAKe
HOW MANY DOCTORS DiD iT TAKe?
one
two
three
four
now
you
hit
the
floor