Scarlet

• Emily May Heffernan, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2013

The girl sat before her in a dank and murky gutter. Her filthy, bleached blonde bob surrounded her grimy oval shaped face like a false halo. Her tattered, torn silver sequined dress hung pathetically on her slim body. Her silver pumps lay next to her, forgotten. The girl was holding a half empty bottle of bourbon loosely in her numb hands.
From atop the grey, squat building Myra watched intently as the girl slowly drank herself into a stupor. Myra’s long, blood red hair flew around her face and body, whipping her, leaving stinging lines on the bare parts of her slim, pale figure. Her hair wrapped long tendrils around her arms and neck, clinging to her like an octopus clinging onto its prey. It flew around in front of her rose tinted eyes, turning strips of her vision scarlet. She watched carefully as the girl slowly rose and attempted to walk towards the iron railing that separated her from the raging ocean.
This was Myra’s chance; her only opportunity before the girl ended her life; before she had the chance to play with her latest prey. Myra swiftly jumped off the building, landing gracefully on her black stilettos. She walked towards her prey, her heels making a slight clicking sound every time she took a predatory step. The girl was either ignoring the sound of Myra’s approach, or perhaps she couldn’t hear them through the alcohol induced hum. As Myra reached her, the girl was already stepping onto the first rail at the edge of the dock. Myra leaned on the rusty iron bar, right next to her drunken target. She crossed one long, tight jean clad leg behind her, the toe of her right foot rested on the ground. She gazed out at the uncontrolled ocean; Myra giggled in ecstasy as she waited for her game to make her last fateful decision. The girl, now extremely frail, and so close stepped onto the corroded middle rail; she stared down at her hands and feet, her right hand still clinging to the bottle as if it was her only lifeline. Myra closed her eyes and reached out for the girl’s mind. She mentally pushed back the veil of alcohol induced fuzz from the girl’s memory bank. She searched for the exact memory that caused this girl to drink herself into a stupor.
Images flickered across Myra’s closed eyelids. She saw a small, brunette child lying in a foetal position on the floor, her small pale figure covered in bruises of all shapes. She was covered in fresh blood and old scars. A hefty man loomed over the small child, his large, bloody fist poised above. Another image flicked into her view. It resembled the girl but this was her mother. The depleted, inanimate woman lay on an overstuffed armchair. The remnants of the woman’s life spewed across the room. The same small child sat in a far corner. Her small head lay on her tiny knees. A new image exploded into Myra’s field of vision. The girl, a teenager now, stood in disbelief as a violent, bloody act was committed right in front her. Her now empty arms were outstretched as the man in front of her threw a small child into a brick wall.
Myra opened her eyes slowly. Her rose eyes focused completely on the girl beside her. The girl was perfect for what she had planned. The girl was tortured and dispirited, no one would miss her. No one would notice her absence. She took in a deep breathe. The strong, stale salty scent of the enraged ocean filled all of her senses. Just as the girl started to make her move, Myra touched the girl’s slender shoulder and let her mind settle over the girl’s, calming her and finally, the girl fell backwards. She caught the girl as she fell, supporting her with ease. Myra thought of her home in the centre of the chaos people called The City. As she let the scent of her home fill her nose she was suddenly there, standing right in the middle of her kitchen. She walked into the spare bedroom she reserved for all of her new pets. She laid the girl none too ceremoniously onto the large double bed. Myra chained the girl’s wrists to the stainless steel head bar and walked out of the room with a sadistic smile placed on her heart shaped face.
Myra sat on her plush, white leather couch. Red liquid swirled around in a crystal glass; she took a delicate sip and reached out for the girl’s mind. The heavy curtain no longer existed around the girl’s memories. Myra easily walked through her mind and found the one memory she was looking for. As the girl slept in the closed off room, Myra replayed the memory of the girls dead mother over and over. She left the snapshot memory on repeat and went searching for the next, tormenting memory. She pulled the girl’s father forward, looping this new memory with the other. She played them on shuffle, and then to torment the girl even more she shoved in her last memory. All three played over and over, like they were on a disturbing playlist. Myra left it like that for days. The girl was in a deep sleep, the way Myra wanted it.


After three weeks of mind games, Myra stepped it up a notch. She snapped the girl out of her coma like trance and brought the memories even further forward. She played them as if they were happening all over again. She could hear the girl’s screams. Myra smiled in ecstasy as she mentally unlocked the girl’s chains and teleported a pistol into the hysterical girls lap. There was but one bullet in the gun. Myra played the memories even faster.
BOOM!
The satisfying gunshot resounded behind her. Myra’s prey ended her miserable life. Myra heard a faint but unmistakable noise from behind her. She smiled and took another drink from her glass.
“Glad you could join me.” She said in a sultry voice.
“So, I’m not dead because?” Came the tortured voice behind her.
Myra turned to the girl behind her; the recently fired gun hung loosely in her hand. Myra slowly smiled and bought the crystal glass back to her lips.