Red

Red. Red was the colour that blinded me, the colour that put me to sleep while rage surged through my veins in a hot flash. And then I awoke again. There they were, five jumbled corpses sprawled on the floor, bloody and in pieces. Dance beats pumped around me, the bass throbbing through my chest with a jarring reality as crowds of screaming clubbers scrambled out of the building like desperate rats.

I let out a tortured groan, squeezed my face between my hairy hands and screwed my eyes shut. They deserved it though… didn’t they? I barely remembered what happened before the blackout but I did know that my loneliness made me do crazy things sometimes. Like ripping the heads off of thugs who'd berate me in front of a pretty girl. A chill ran through me, I froze - where was that girl now? I looked to the mangled pile of body parts on the floor. She wasn’t there. I let out a short sigh of relief, glanced down at my blood splattered hands and retched. All I ever wanted was a normal day.

I ripped the jacket from a nearby bar stool and frantically wiped at my shaking hands. I reached over the bar, clumsily smashing half empty glasses aside with my bulky body, and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels from behind the counter. I emptied the dregs from a pint glass and poured it in: one for the road. My feet thudded against the floor as I made my way across the deserted dance floor sipping on my drink, strobe lights flickering fiercely. The emergency exit had been jammed open by the last fleeing rats, yet it was a quiet, still night outside. Not a single person had stuck behind. Nobody ever did.

The warm summer air hit me as I stomped outside into the alley with a noisy clunk. The smells of hot concrete and sour trash filled my nostrils. I lifted my whiskey pint for another gulp but it’s glass suddenly shattered out of my hand, sticky alcohol running down my wrist, my new suede shoes completely splattered. I’d had these shoes specially made for my larger-than-average feet, for my night out as one of them. I tutted miserably, whiskey-less, and looked up to find him on the roof ahead of me, crossbow at the ready. He peeled a bolt from the quiver on his back and aimed for a second hit. I ripped the lid from a dumpster and braced to deflect the oncoming shot.

“Fight me like a man, arrow boy!”

“Can’t fight monsters like a man, ogre,” the man’s voice oozed with disdain.

“You spilled my whiskey, arrow boy,” a bolt dented through the metal lid.

“Too bad for the whiskey. I was aiming for your head.”

“... It was an accident... They shouldn’t have pushed me, I never wanted no trouble,” another shot banged at the makeshift shield.

“So you accidentally tore them to shreds?”

“I didn’t do it... The red did.”

“And that's exactly why the zones exist. To keep monsters like you away from innocent human beings,” another shot struck the top of the lid, this time a little too close to the head for comfort.

“I'm warning you, arrow boy. Stop shooting at me.”

“I’ll stop shooting when you stop killing.”

The next shot passed under the shield and sliced into my ankle. I hadn’t thought to crouch behind the lid, to protect my lower legs. I was never much of a thinker. Another bolt hit my fresh wound before I could guard myself. There was a loud snap. My leg collapsed, the other knee banging to the floor with a thunderous shake. There was a thunk as another bolt was shot, hitting the top of my head where my shield had fallen down.

My heart pounded at the sight of the bolt shaft jutting out from my skull. The arrows continued to pummel my shield relentlessly. I edged backwards and snatched a broken television from the recycling heap behind me, hurling it with all my strength at my attacker. I didn't want to hurt him. I just wanted to scare him away, like an old pensioner throwing a shoe at a pesky raccoon. But I'd left myself open and another bolt struck my shoulder. I saw red. And I awoke. The fight was over.