It was two o’clock at dawn, and a man in his middle thirties slumped down rather lazily on his lounge chair as dust formed a tunnel under his glowing lamp. As usual, he soon felt the remaining warmness left on the sharp tip of his injector. The brown beads had entirely blended into his crimson blood while two tiny bubbles popped up and off the surface.

     A red cinnamon smell overflowed from the glass tube he held and spread into the filthy air. As a snake, it drilled into his nostrils and crawled upward, taking a bloody bite out of his half-sleepy mind. The painful hit brought his consciousness back and reminded him of his solitude and isolation. He slowly rose from the chair, where several injectors were strewn around on the floor in front of him. In imperfect paces, he limped downstairs. The sound of his footsteps echoed throughout the empty house, and everything in it was covered in dust—a very thick layer of brown, floating dust. To him, photos hung on each side of the wall were rather blurry, only showing the fuzzy shapes of singular and at one time familiar figures. Gleams from the outside world glittered, forming a perfect angle that stroked his eyes. In contrast, his dim living room provided a tiny space that tolerated his existence.

     Right next to where he stood stoically, there was a large safe sticking out of the wall as if reaching out to speak to him. He thought about how it was built a few months ago before his wife died. A gray sadness permeated and made its way into his pupils, bringing tears out from the corners of his exhausted eyes. She was the only person whom he had relied on throughout most of his life. That night in the hospital, she left him in her own silent dream, leaving him in a world of suffering. No one had ever told him about the death of his wife at once, however. It was not until the next morning did he see the name card posting outside the room was changed. Even then, his family-in-laws refused to meet him, saying they had no daughter at all and had never known him before.

     He knew what was waiting for him inside the safe. It was a letter, the last gift from his wife, which proved that their love was true and real. Bearing her weak body, she asked him to only open the safe when he was desperate after she was gone.

     After hesitating for a while, he rotated the scratched number lock. Though it seemed to be the first time in his life operating this safe, he felt a familiarity with the icy lock.

“09…31...63...” He murmured while he handled and cupped the lock. Unlike his neighbor, who needed to check the calendar every time to make sure, he would never forget about his darling's birthday. The safe finally popped opened, and an egg shell color white letter lie soundly in the small space. He grabbed it instantly, he placed the paper up to the edge of his know, and inhaled. He could smell her. A smell of mums, of course, he knew that was her favorite.

     As he carefully revealed the letter and flipped the blank piece of paper over, a brief line of small but exquisite words emerged on the page: “Go to the balcony.”

     Nothing else was written on the page.

     He fell into sudden astonishment.

     Was the love, the many sweet memories and time they spent together for all those years seriously compressed into these feeble and emotionless words? He could hardly control his lingering mind and collapsed onto the sofa next to him. He thought of all the possibilities, but still could not figure out a reasonable answer unless he moved forward.

     He made up his mind resolutely and lifted his body.

     And that was the moment when the drug took full effect. The warmth streamed through his veins, and the acid crystals were dissolving in his body. He felt he might pass out but continued on.

     At the moment he stepped out onto the balcony, an enormous weight climbed up from his leg and tried to pulled him down to the underworld. Every step he made, forceful and scream from behind increased with severity and desperation. He gripped the letter tightly and focused his eyesight on the door. Right before he could touch the door with jalousies on, something of an apparition and powerful grabbed his neck. He started to cough and he spit out a mouthful of blood, splattering the floor into many shapes.

     However, he knew he could not stop. That was the place she wanted him to be and probably the last connective place to their lives together. As soon as he thrust the door aside with all his strength, rays of sunlight snapped out from their frames and rushed into the room. Suddenly, the screaming along with the force against him were all gone. He leaned his body on the door as his strength was drained. The warmness from the first rays of sunlight soon covered his body and transformed itself into a milky white serenity. He saw her. He saw his wife, dressed in pure white with two giant iridescent wings on her back. She was standing on the rails of the window, offering him her hands. She was so close to him that he felt he could just reach her by stepping out.

     “Come here, darling. Just a few more steps...” He heard her say.

     A warm and sudden breeze swept all the pain he had just received, and pulled him into her loving embrace.

     A few seconds later, his eyes closed tightly with tears, he crashed down hard onto the concrete below. Fresh but murky blood splashed and painted a rose of red, lovely and exquisite. Covered in scarlet, he turned to his translucent wife and smiled, ignoring the pressure and pain from his concave chest. 

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Title: Scarlet Heart

Genre: Mystery, Love

Age Range: Teenager and older

Word Count: 1014

Author Name: Jackie Zhong

This short story depicts the death of a man who uses drugs and surrenders himself in illusion in order to meet his wife, who is only his imagination. I intend to plant a few clues here and there, so that my readers could think about the meaning while reading.  I vision that my target audience will be people who like finding hidden details to form a well-rounded understanding of a story. For me, I am an international student who study in an U.S. high school. Currently I am a junior. Though initially I wrote in Chinese for fan-fiction, I started write stories and poems in English since three years ago when I come to U.S. for high school. Beside writing stories and poems for my school's Literature Magazine, I've created a sci-fi romance script for my school's one-act play. Though now I focus in romance, I also see myself a big fan of writing horror and depicting growth of teenagers. I love using long sentence and vivid imagery to reveal the inner feelings of my characters. I play guitar a bit, read Haruki Murakami's book, watch animes, and of course write in my free time. My hometown is Guangzhou, China. But for most of the time in a year I stay in Washington state. I am 17 year old right now.

     “Thanks for taking me all the way here, Aki.” Haruka turned her head around and looked into her sister’s eyes, “I mean it, sis.”

     Under the light, Haruka’s white dress made her face look even paler, as if her first layer of color was erased, including the redness of her lips. Her black hair danced in the breeze and contrasted even more with her overall whiteness. The gray wheeled skeleton she sat on provided her a strong support against days of helplessness and hopelessness. But that was it, there was little she could do to fight her fate. Yet, her crystal blue eyes, like an unwavering sea, glimmered with beauty and unreachable depth. In her hands, she held a stack of newly written letters, white and clean.

     Aki kept her mouth shut while controlling the wheelchair. Surrounding them, flowers of all kinds covered the whole plains. Clusters of sunflowers, violets, and cherry blossoms neatly mixed with and embellished every piece of the soil, covering every secret buried underneath.

     Silently, they slowly moved on the dotted trail in the middle of the plain. A couple times, Aki thought of starting a conversation but soon gave up, leaving those thoughts behind deep in the crisscross shadows. About every ten steps, she would glance at the letters in Haruka’s hands and look away, pretending to enjoy the scent of flowers.

     It did not take them long to reach the heart of the plain--a clean and smooth small hill. In the middle, stood a red and lonely mailbox with no name. No one knew whom its maker was and how long it had been there. Its red paint had partly faded under years of rainfall. Alone, it watched over every flower on the plain with solitary peace.

     “Are you sure that...” Aki hesitated, and she continued, “we shall leave all those letters here?”

     Haruka nodded and smiled at Aki, “Yeah. Again, thanks for coming with me. It’s kinda hard for me to do this alone...”

     She started with a rather fast pace, inserting her letters one by one. Little sounds were made as the letters fell to the bottom one by one, as if they were peddles descending into the bottomless sea.

     From now on, no one will know my feelings to you. And you, June, I hope you can forgive me. I do all this only for you to move on. So... Please don’t blame me...

     Haruka’s pace slowed down as fewer and fewer letters were left in her hands. All her memories with him reappeared like storyboards of old movies. There would be no more time they would spend together; no more letters they would write each other; no more chance he would lean on her; no more fireworks they would see together; no more dreams... No more...

     She stopped at the last letter as tear drops dripped and slide down her slightly blushed face, wetting and blurring the words in the last letter. Weeping, she dropped it into the mailbox, where she believed all of her secrets would be buried.

     She finally allowed herself to sob.

     On their way back, Haruka and Aki exchanged no words until reaching the exit to the plain. Haruka turned around with her face dry, “Hey, Aki. Let’s go to a salon afterwards.”

     “Hmm? Oh sure. What kinda new hairstyle do you wanna get?”

     “Nah, not really for me;” She smiled, “it’s for you, Aki. Let’s go dye your hair! I know you’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

     Haruka laughed and turned around, leaving Aki shocked and frozen. Then Aki smiled too and joined her in laughing.

     “Well, seems like there’s nothing I can hide from you, big sis.”

     And soon, as that year’s spring ended, they never returned to the plain together. It was not until the end of the year did Aki realize how much courage Haruka had to bid June farewell and entomb herself into nights of forever despair. No light afterwards could ever be shed onto Haruka’s heart as she approached her narrow end, determined and alone.

It had been a long time for him to listen to the rain. Notes of soft slow song floated on the top of his coffee. Silver raindrops fell under streetlights like bright shooting stars racing under deep blue sky. Some part of him was lost in that rain. He always knew.

His crooked reflection lingered under a mild breeze. Muddy footprints marked his arrival in clear puddles. Blurry figures under umbrellas dipped into silence with lowered heads and wet clothes. The city was whelmed in drizzle, turning its back to him. Traffic lights of red and green bounced in the air, cheering for cars going under them. Like little kids who he and she once were.

Old buildings dressed in worn colors stood on each side. The Moon rested on the peak of a Gothic church, singing a lullaby people had long forgotten. So many nights had passed; the moon was there again, imagining old children would come back and play on the empty streets.

He stood alone in the middle of the path. Though light shone when raindrops kissed his extended shadow, it could not illuminate his long old darkness. He himself alone sank into the bottomless sea. Airless, breathless, and helpless. Scattered bubbles ascended to heaven from his struggling nostril, abandoning his solo naked soul. How much he wished for a descending hand, gripping his own firmly and never letting him go. How much he longed for a warm hug, telling him he had never been alone. Yet, there were none. After all, he was just an average Joe, a nameless character that no one would ever remember. He had seen beauty others had never seen; he had dreamed of paradise no one else had ever envisioned. Yet, he had no one to talk to, no one to lean close to and share his cold temperature.

The sound of a clock striking pulled him back to the rainy night. He had subconsciously moved his feet when he was lost in his mood, dragging himself to a spot under the street light. Glowing heat from the yellow light above had warmed up his body a little bit. He noticed his hood was off from his head, allowing rain to fall on his face. He tasted it; it was slightly salty. He swallowed it with eyes closed and opened his mouth for more rainwater. A small stream dripped down from his forehead. The more it came, the more salty his mouth had become.

Did he cry? He did not know. He kept his hands from reaching his face and let the stream flow down his cheek, washing away his everything, though he had owned nothing from the beginning.

Rain was the only company he had then. It bounced on leaves and cobblestones, echoing in his empty world. He started to feel tired, receiving more weight on his head. He paced imperfectly and lie under a maple, throwing his body against moss and ripped bark. Twined branches above created a perfect shelter for him. He breathed in the damp odor of the maple tree with greed, looking at the sky with half-opened eyes. It smelled like fish, like the one she once made for him. The moon sprayed her wispy dust, and smoothly shone upon his wrinkled face. Once again, she sang her lullaby people had long forgotten, only for him. But in that moment, he could hear it clearly. If he ever got to know how to write, he would definitely write down all the lyrics and read them before everybody sitting under the trees. Wind softly blew the branches, adding a layer of falling leaves for him as quilt. He did not know what would happen in the next morning. After all, he was just a tiny piece of the puzzle that made up the whole world. No one would ever notice him. His breath started to slow down from a single melody into broken notes.

The world sank back into silence as it used to be.

The next morning, people would find him lying under the tree. And their lives would go on; time would move on; the moon would rise again every night and rain would still fall from the sky, bidding farewell to those lost and lonely souls before sun rise.

Mild breeze woke up the unconscious couple,

Silent morning stands still above the dim hill.

Scarf in black and blue outstanded the Summer maple,

Winter’s soundless growl snaps the nostalgia ill.

Your smile reminded me the rim of rainbow row,

Warm cotton wraps outside my frozen coat.

Graciel hairs dripped with unripe marrow,

Silver cold stabs my chest but not the enveloped throat.

“Here’s a present you wish for,” she said,

“With everlasting warm in your heart.”

Sunlight covered your grace smile in pure white,

Dreamlike, glowing lights shined the black pupil of my eye.

Vanished footsteps mark the ending road,

Blue and black scarf tilts in this white falling snow.

Your soft tone no longer follows,

Only the memory echoes, with a fading smile.

It was 2 in the morning. A 35-year-old man was lying on a chair, where dust was reflected under his glowing lamp. He felt the remaining warmness left on the sharp tip of injector; the brownish beads had entirely blended into his crimson blood while one or two tiny bubbles popped up and off on the surface.

A red spicy smell overflowed the glass tube holding in his hand. In a mixture, the smell sharpened his sleepy mind and went off. Reminding him the fact that he was left alone with solitude in a quiet isolated room.

He rose up from the chair, which several injectors lie upon it, and limped downstairs with imperfect paces. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the empty house.

Everything in the room was covered in dust-- a thick layer of dust. Photos hanging on each side of the wall were blurred, only showing fuzzy shapes of singular figures. Gleams from the neighborhood glittered in a perfect angle that stroke his eyes. On the contrary, the dim living room provide a tiny space that tolerated his existence.

Right next to where he was standing, there lay a inserted safe into the wall. Somehow he remembered, that was built a few months ago, right before his wife died. A gray sadness shone in front of his pupils, bringing tears out from corners of his exhausted eyes. She was the only person who he had lived on through his life.That day, she left in a silent dream, leaving him in a world of suffering and solitude. No one ever told him about the death of his wife, however. Only until the next morning he saw the name card posting outside the room was changed. Then, even his step-family refused to meet him, saying there was no relationship between them.

He knew what was waiting for him inside the safe. It was a letter, the last gift from his wife, which proved their love was true and had been real to the world. He was told by her, whom knew she would not have a long life, only open the safe when he was desperate toward his life.

After hesitating for a while, he rotated the scratched number lock. Though it seemed to be the first time in his life operating this, he felt a implied familiarity from the icy lock.

“09…31...63...” He murmured while he was handling the lock, how could he ever forget about his darling's birthday.

The safe was finally opened; a pale white letters lie in the little space. He grabbed the letter with no patience and smell the leftover smell on it. A smell of mum, of course, he knew that was her favorite.

As he opened the letter and flipped the blank piece of paper; a brief line of small but exquisite words emerged on the page: “Go to the balcony.”

“Wait, that’s it?” He fell into a sudden astonishment.

Was that it? The love of all the sweet memory and time they spent together were compressed into these feeble words? He could hardly control the vertigo lingering in his mind and collapsed on the sofa next to him. He thought of all possibilities, but still could not find a reasonable answer.

On the way to the balcony, he returned to his room and injected a couple more tubes of brown liquid to calm himself down.

In the moment he entered balcony, an enormous weight climbed up from his leg and tried to pulled him down to the underworld. Every step he made, force and screaming from behind increased. He gripped the letter tightly and focused his eyesight on the door. Right before he could touch the door with jalousies on, something rough but powerful grabbed his neck. He started to cough and spit a mouthful of blood.

However, he knew he could not stop. That was the place she want to be and probably the last connective place to their life. As soon as he thrust the door aside with all his strength, rays of sunlight snapped out from the frames and rushed into the room. All but in a sudden, the screaming along with the force were all gone. He leaned his body on the door with left strength fell onto the floor. The warmness from the first rays of sunlight soon covered his body into milk white serene. He saw his wife, who dressed in pure white with two giant wings on her back standing on the rails of the window, offering him her hands. She was so closed that he could just reach her by stepping out. Breeze swept all the pain he just received, and brought him into her warm hug.

A few seconds later, he crashed onto the hard concrete and splashed into pieces, saying goodbye to this ugly world. A piece of cut newspaper, which was held in his hand, slowly dropped out and fell into the pool of blood, turning into scarlet.

He came up to her slowly, step by step. The air around was dry, rubbing him with anxiety. Her blonde hairs glittered as night's candles, lighting a way for him.

It had been years of waiting, he finally hurdled the barrier and sought a way to meet her.

The moment he hugged her, he cried. Tears slipped down and washed his wrinkled face. All the pain he received, all the memory he suffered were dragged into his mind. His arms embraced her fading body even harder, like a drowning boy grabbing at straws. As time flew, pieces of soul faded from his trembling body as golden particles, dissolved into lightless night. She smiled behind his slowly shrinking face, with tiny pearls appeared at the corners of her eyes.When she finally stopped sobbing, she whispered next to his ears. "Please, forget me."

In the next morning, people found him sleeping right next to her tomb, being covered by first rays of sunlight.