RED - Matthew Willingham

 RED

Matthew Willingham

I

I see the world in red. It is the shade of my husband's blood on his final night. It

poured out of his chest and onto the floor, staining my arms as I held him in his last

moment. The Masked Ronin that killed him sheathed his blood-stained katana. He

turned around and ran, disappearing through the flaming ruins of my home and into the

black night. I let him go. I needed to be there, with my love.

The memory of everything after became etched into my mind. Our home

continued to burn as I held his bloodied hands. I remember his wheezes for air, his

haunting stare at me, the love of his life, the last thing he ever saw. Worst of all, I

remember his final words, the only ones he could form, spoken with his final breath, spit

out amidst crimson blood. It was a whisper, one I could barely hear, Please, as if he was

begging for his pain to be over. He had his wish a few moments later, releasing the air in

his lungs with a terminal sigh of relief.

All I could do was watch as he left me behind in the afterlife. I let go of him so I

could wipe my tears, blood-stained hands painting my eyes red. I never cleaned his

blood off of me. It was the only thing I had left of him. Until the day I would be reunited

with him, my world would forever be painted on a bloodied canvas.

The next day, I watched red flames turn his red corpse into red ashes. When my

thoughts couldn't remain on my grief, they would become thoughts of hatred, a need to

have the ones that did this to him, to me, suffer.

II

The sun rose and I heard a whisper from afar, unintelligible in regards to what

was actually said, yet concise in telling me the direction of its origin. I walked forward in

a trance while The Whisperers led me, my lack of sleep making the passage of time

unknown. I kept walking until I found a cave. Once I stepped inside it, The Whisperers

became understandable.

The maroon walls whispered wails of worry, of anger, of suffering. They knew my

pain, and I theirs. They told me their tales, all similar amongst themselves and I. They

each failed in their journeys, their souls finding themselves here. Eventually, I reached

the end of the tunnel, finding a crimson katana resting within the wall, its handle being

the only fraction of it visible to my eye. The Whispers spoke to me one final time.

This is Kaenmaru. This will give you what you desire.

I stared at the red blade before me. As my soul peered into the weapon, I

heard flames as the sword spoke with a crackling cackle, delighted by my arrival. He told

me he knows of whom I'm looking for, even as I do not. He would help me find him. He

would tell me everything. All I had to do was take it for my own. My hand reached

outward, thinking of The Masked Ronin, of my husband's last look at me, begging for it

all to end. I took Kaenmaru's hand, and slowly pulled it closer. The more I pulled, red

flames seeped through the cracks in the wall, bursting out like solar flares.

As the ruby blade revealed itself, I felt a passion I thought was lost with my

love. A burning sensation that reached every corner of my body. It reminded me of him,

his lips against mine, his body pressed against me, his embrace as we slept in the night.

Kaenmaru was revealing my inner desires: my husband's love, his body, his spirit. I

pulled further still, and the heat became more aggressive. My thoughts drifted away

from my husband, away from his memory, and onto the inherent lust within me to see

those who harmed me harmed themselves.

The blade became hot to the touch. It seared itself into my flesh, forming

an eternal physical connection between it and me. We became a singular being, newly

born into this world. I was now a creation of fire, born to burn. As the last of me was

pulled out of the rocks, the flames from inside the walls shouted out to me, bathing me

in a red blaze.

III

My love appeared before me.

He was a young man, as young as when I first met him. He sparred with his

brother in what would soon become our home. Whatever magic the sword used to bring

me there, I didn't care. It was him. He was alive, smiling as he practiced with my

brother-in-law. He knocked his brother down and he laughed the way he always had, the

way I would have given anything to hear forever. I didn't worry about when this would

end, or if he could see my presumably monstrous appearance. He was right in front of

me, and I knew I would never care about anything else again.

I began to weep, but refused to cover my face. I knew this wouldn't last, and I needed to

burn his memory in my mind. My tears wiped my face. My world began to heal. The

scarlet sky had become a beautiful sapphire blue. I smiled as I got to see my love the way

I had always remembered him. I cherished it.

There was a voice. My voice, the voice of a young girl that had long been dead.

She called my husband's name and he turned, running to her in excitement. My

brother-in-law stayed behind, watching him go to me. As my dear spoke to me, I

remembered this day. This was the night of our first kiss, the night we revealed our love

for each other. I turned back towards my brother-in-law and noticed that he wasn't

looking at my future husband, but at me. He stared at me the same way my younger self

stared at his brother. He loved me.

Upon that revelation, I felt a sharp pain in my temple. My eyes saw glimpses of a

world in red. I had walked out of the cavern, the scarlet sun bathing me in light once

again. I headed south towards the direction of the town. I took a glimpse of the katana

combined with my hand as Kaenmaru led me to his home.

My vision went back to my dream. It had become night. I stood next to my love

the way I once had. We stared at the full moon and the stars, their white lights reflecting

on our faces. I stared at him as we talked sweet nothings to each other. I remember what

I thought in those moments. I remember my heart pounding like a thousand taiko

drums. I told him I loved him and he told me the same. I watched our first kiss, and I

noticed him staring at us. He looked spiteful, angry. I recognized that look as one I'd see

every day in the shadows. The look of jealousy, of hate. Of vengeance.

The twins of moonlight and starlight turned red. The three younger ones

disappeared and a crimson home appeared before me, littered with samurai, their

uniforms and masks just like the men I saw that night. They stood together in great

numbers, as if they expected me. The katana welded to my hand felt light as a feather. I

moved forward. I cared not if I would be caught, or if I stood a chance to kill all of them.

I cared not if I would survive.

I moved forward with a gracefulness I had never felt, as nature itself supported

me in that moment. The winds led me to my goal with ease. The earth graciously

accepted my steps, pushing me ever forward. The flames of hatred fueled every swing of

my blade. I became water, formless and shapeless. There were no marks made against

my skin as I struck my blade as quickly as lightning into the bodies of all that stood

before my goal, their collective cries of anguish creating the sound of thunder in my

ears. Their blood bathed my body better than ever before, washing away my past life. I

had realized the truth in that moment, that I had died with my husband. I had become a

spirit of vengeance as limbs and corpses and screams made a trail behind me, ending

when I opened the door to his home. The edges of my mouth spread from one ear to the

other in a smile, my red teeth revealing themselves to my brother-in-law.

IV

He held his wife and son. He was a young man, nearing the age of an adult. She

was my age, with looks reminiscent of my own. It was as if he created the life he always

wanted with me, the life I wanted with my husband. My reflection looked at me with

petrification, her gaze contrasting to The Son's face of bravado. Any fear he had of me,

he refused to reveal it.

My eyes went to Him. He looked the most calm out of the three. His face showed

one of clarity, of acceptance. He opened his mouth, a distant echo of his voice reaching

my ears. I cared little of the words, but recognized it as bargaining; not for his life, but

theirs.

He continued to embrace them. The Wife looked to Him, tears streaming from

her eyes. She begged me not to take Him, to move on and accept my loss. The Son

continued to look at me as his hands morphed into fists of white knuckles. Still, He held

them. He held them as if He could never release them, as if they were just as attached as

His heart. It sickened me, for I knew the truth. He held them so that I might feel guilt;

that I might begin to doubt my mission. He held them so that maybe His love for them

might convince me to forget my love. It didn't.

His voice was the echo of my grieving sobs as I watched my husband burn. Their

red faces remind me of whose blood I see them through. They remind me of my mission.

The flames of hatred inside me burn for a world without my love, and no one else is to

blame for this except Him. All of what happened that night, to Him or His family, all of

it was because of Him.

I pitied them, really. He had her, but wanted me. He had him, but didn't care. He

took mine from me thinking I would feel the same. I wondered how He would feel

without them. I chuckled at the thought, the sound of flames crackling from my throat.

The laugh went to my chest, transforming into a roar as the idea in my head began to

form.

V

No.

The Son ran for the far wall. He took the family sword from its stand, staring at

me with a young man's courage. His voice echoed a battle cry, but felt more like a

whimper. He swung at me once, I replied, and he could never swing again. His arms

were on the ground, blood pouring from where they were attached. His mother

screamed louder than he did. I stared at him as he bled out, watching the red water run

down the floors as wailing cries erupted from his parents.

My boy. My baby boy.

The Wife crawled to The Son's body, red tears falling from her face. She

held his arms with one hand and his face with the other, pushing them closer so that

they would seem more attached. The katana wasn't too far from her reach. I watched her

for eternity as she refused to look anywhere else but at her baby boy. The same look I

made at my husband's corpse. I waited until she looked at me, until her red red irises

stared back at me. At that moment, her eyes shifted and I finally saw it; the same look I

made at Him. She reached for the katana, there was a strike from my blade, and her

head joined The Son's corpse. I picked her up, holding her by her hair.

His eyes went blank as He weeped the same red tears as His wife before Him. He

stared into her eyes with horror as her blood dripped down to his knees. Look at me. He

did as He was told, and my hatred burned hotter. I wanted the same look The Wife and

The Son had shown me, but was given something worse. His eyes were the black of

nothingness, showing me no signs of hate or anything else other than pure suffering. He

cried and cried as he stared at me, tears running like waterfalls. His eyes became a

mirror, and The Woman in Red stared back at me.

She had no clothes, no hair, no skin. Her body was burnt beyond recognition,

with one bloodied blade as a hand. Behind her were two mutilated corpses. These were

the bodies of a husband of and wife; two lovers that will never find eachother again;

pulled eternally apart because of the demon before her.

…

My head is pounding. Taiko drums bang away within my skull. I drop The Wife,

she rolls back to her son, reunited. He bows over acceptingly, his crying overbearing his

speech. I'm pushing the blade against the back of his neck, and small drops of blood

appear in preparation. I get ready to strike. He speaks his last words:

Please…

VI

I strike down. His words are worming into my head, echoing with my husband's.

I look at The Wife and The Son, their mangled bodies laying in a pile, now joined by The

Husband. Each of their mouths lay open, staring at me with open eyes. They're mouths

move, as if they're speaking to me with vocal chords no longer attached.

Please. Please. Please.

No.

I can't stay here. I open the doors I came in, hoping to exit the carnage I created. I

find only more death, as dozens of the dead lay scattered on the cordovan grass. They

each turn their heads the closer I get to them, all shouting at me the same words. Please.

Please. Please.

I keep walking, hoping to find the end of the bodies, but the trail of them seems

to go for eternity. I start running, rushing for its end. After what feels like hours of

begging from the corpses, the end of the trail leads me to a river I don't remember

crossing, having remnants of a bridge covered in flames. The bodies go as far as this

destroyed bridge, some seeming like they might get swept up by the river. I can't escape

their shouts from me. Since I have no escape, I turn my head back to them, confronting

them.

They are all destroyed beyond my comprehension. Arms and legs and heads and

torsos all disconnected from each other in a field stretching my line of sight. Their

begging is getting louder and louder, causing me to cover my ears in pain. I need to tune

it out, find some way to get this yelling away from me. I focus on the sound of running

water from the river, its current speaking to me with consistent calm. The shouting of

the dead is getting quieter. A new whisper emerges from the water. It speaks softly, so I

need to focus harder on it, until it's all I can hear. I close my eyes, and turn my head to

the water, feeling as if I may dive in if I'm not careful. I hear him.

Clean your eyes, for all they can see are hatred and death.

My love?

Without hesitation, I throw my head in the water, rubbing at my eyes so that all

of my husband's blood washes away. The current feels strong, as if it's trying to pull me

away with it. I stay strong from its grasp so I can peer into the water, searching its

depths for him, only to find nothing.

Above.

I bring my head back to the surface. He stands before me, standing on the

opposite side of the river. I can't help but cry once more. The vision before was of the

past. It was his face and voice of youth, a part of him that no longer existed in a dream

that wasn't real. I look at him now and see the same man that died in my arms, the man

that had kissed me the day before. Here, he was my true memory of him, all that I had

loved of him and all that I continue to love. All that is a part of me and all that I wished I

had stayed with me. Here, he was my love.

The red's of my vision begin fading away for good. The black sky lit by the white

full moon, revealing to me the evergreen grass that persisted on both sides of the light

blue rushing waters. My Love wears white robes that match the light of the moon. He's

staring at me with one of the many looks I recognize of him, and my heart sinks. He

pities me.

Look what has happened to you, my love. Look what you've become.

Don't say that, Love. Please, just come back to me. I raise my hand, hoping to

motion for him to come here, only to be greeted by a katana welded to my hand. The

sword and my arm are both a bright red, nearly glowing in the light. I look down to find

my entire body like this, charred and burned, covered in blood that may be mine as well

as the many I've killed tonight.

My eyes return to my husband, his face shifting into the look he would always

give me. Just from his eyes focused on me, his eyebrows furrowed together, but with his

jaw left untightened, I knew all that he wished to say to me. All that was left to say to me.

No matter what happened in his afterlife, his love is still here. I am still here. His

love will only ever die with me. And when it does, it will reunite with my love for him.

Until then, that love will remain on this planet, living the rest of the life that he was

forced to leave behind.

I stand up to look at him with eye level. I try to say anything to him, anything to

express how much I still love him. To tell him how much all his being meant to me. But

every time I try to speak, I think of his memory, I think of how little it compares to what

it felt like in the moment to be with him. I try to tell him that I'll keep living for him, that

I will move on, that my body will recover and I will be a new woman capable of loving

someone once again. All I could say was Please don't go. I try again, only to say it once

more.

Please…

He turns his body, walking farther from the river, into the night sky. I rush

forward to get to him, begging and pleading like the dead behind me once did. I jump

into the river to reach him, and the current becomes twice as strong. I lose my footing,

grabbing onto a piece of the burned bridge so that I could watch him go farther and

farther, wanting to keep looking at him for as long as I can.

My Love! I can't live without you!

He stops walking, turning to look at me once more.

You aren't living without me, for I never left.

The fragile remains of the bridge break, and I'm swept by the current. I keep

trying to halt my progress, desperate to find him again, but I can't escape the river's hold

of me. It takes time, but I quit trying to fight it, and accept my new path. I watch as he

gets further away, letting the current take me to the river's end.