Scarlet Heart

     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.