Red Gales and Her

© Oct 1, 2017. All Rights Reserved.

A giggling baby in a white diaper is mounted on a grotesque gargoyle from a 4-story, concrete building as gales blow the opposite direction. The mother is nowhere to be found, but a man in his mid-20s, (wearing a black and red, button-up, mackinaw, blue jeans, and black jackboots) sitting in a wheelchair, watches the baby girl. A concerned, 18-year-old with chestnut hair and beautiful eyes the color of rainbow moonstone with the colors bluish green, to yellow, to orange, to green (built like good juju with a double ponytail, a zipped up, beige peacoat over a silk, milk-white, long-sleeved bell sleeve shirt, blue skinny jeans, and tawny, shearling boots) shouts, “Oh my God! Somebody get that baby off the roof!” There’s a diversity of approximately 20 onlookers watching the occurrence, nervous if the baby’s next move will be her last. Six of those twenty onlookers take out their cellphones to record as the 10-month-old has the compulsion to walk, balancing herself on the gargoyle.

Instantly, the anonymous baby slips. The woman’s scream joins the crowd, but the calm man spins his wheels forward with his arms open, catching her naturally like a football. Everyone is in awe. The girl’s unscathed. He moves his wheelchair toward the adorable teenager who compliments him, “You’re a hero.” Remaining speechless, the odd man nods his head sideways, hands her the baby, (where he notices the palm of her hands appears like titanium quartz with the color black, bluish-green, and purple) then heads the opposite direction in his wheelchair. A police officer reluctantly steps out of his vehicle in the background, shocked. The officer stares at him as if though he watched the hero drug a scorpion with polonium in a syringe, then light the scorpion on fire.

Although he saved a falling baby from her catastrophic death, absolutely nobody bothers to steer him toward his destination. He rolls his wheels approximately 4 blocks across the street in the freezing snow, which is 18 inches high. Snowflakes fall from the ultramarine empyrean. Three delinquents laugh at his crippled condition. One delinquent has brown dreadlocks, a red banana wrapped around his forehead, a vermilion winter coat, black jeans, and black boots. The second delinquent is a brunette with short, curly hair, a carmine, hooded, insulated jacket with black drawstrings on both sides, blue jeans, and black shoes. The third delinquent has a crimson parka, three teardrops on the right side of his cheek, blue jeans, and crimson shoes.

Ignoring the delinquents before they can give the hero blood boiling rage, he digs the rest of his path, which is a walkway to his ventilated cottage. The three delinquents follow him to his cottage, which is enormously unsettling. He opens the front door and the delinquents are shocked at the noise they hear from inside. Could it be that he left his television on? The sound of a defenseless, little boy is screaming with adhesive tape wrapped around his mouth. As if though hiding a bizarre sight, the hero shuts the door and locks it while the delinquents walk away with confusion etched on their faces.

Inside the cottage, the urethra of the 7-year-old boy is separated and left in a white, ceramic salad bowl. He rises from his wheelchair, lunging a keen knife into the boy’s right, testicular organ with excessive force, which causes it to rupture. The boy’s mangled face turns into rage and tears. A stack of photographs of the boy’s endoskeleton is sitting beside him. He’s handcuffed to a radiator, petrified.

Flashbacks occur of the hero making nitrocellulose and mixing it with concentrate sulfuric acid and water in a brown, ceramic bowl. After putting ice cubes and salt in the solution, he adds cotton, allows it to soak for approximately 12 hours, and cleans it in cold water. He pours the formula in an empty liquor bottle, drives to his victim’s house, then pours the formula from the bottle into a hollow front, right bed leg. He effectively screws the bed leg back on the bed with his white latex gloves. Thus, he leaves victim’s house knowing that the drug addict victim will let smoke wander to the extent of escalating heat, which would set off the explosive.

His cottage is protected by material one should only witness during a natural disaster. Beneath the cottage, there’s an enormous, underground region with a perforated barrel shroud in a freezing temperature. In the region, there’s a life buoy-shaped, metal material which holds a hundred times the weight capacity of the cottage. Inside the material, there’s a superconductor. Above the surface of the cottage, there’s a remarkable remote control, which controls rather or not the house can levitate or float on water in case of a severe flood.

Another flashback occurs. It’s raining and a riot is outside where people hold burning bats, guns, and knives. He sees his defenseless mother getting stoned while he’s only 6-years old in blue overalls and black boots. His mother cries as if though she replaced his sadness for numbness. She is wearing a peach halter top with floral designs, blue jeans, and leather, black riding boots. One stone strikes her on the right temple which causes a laceration. The bleeding compresses her brain and the intense pressure causes her to die in several minutes.

Another flashback occurs from 5 days ago of him naked in a bathroom. A naked brunette with buttocks flatter than a pancake is gasping for oxygen. Tears are running down her fragile cheeks. Her hands are tied tightly behind her back from thick, brown bull rope, her bosoms appear as if though they were in a deep fryer for over 2 minutes and her back appears like aerial shells dug deeply into her spinal cord. Massive blood leakage exits from her rectum when a keen knife is lunged inside. He drags her body out of the pool full of cold water, which causes the back of her head to slam against the black and white, tiled floor. He then deflowers her; he penetrates her, blocking her screams with his hands.

He exits his flashback and hears a light knock at the front door. Swiftly, he hides the little boy in the living room closet, wrapping his mouth with tape, then rushes back into his wheelchair as if though he’s handicapped. The buffoon then knocks on his front window, which is blocking him from seeing the inside of the house. This buffoon (wearing only an orange, unzipped jacket, black t-shirt, blue jeans, and red tennis shoes) didn’t even ring the doorbell, but he gives a sinister at the front door while cracking his knuckles as if though terrifying. The hero opens the door as the buffoon laughs walking by.

“Hey,” the buffoon says as he enters the heroes cottage.

“Hello. What brings you here?”

With a low voice, distorted voice, the buffoon says, “I ju-ju-jus-just wa-wanted to see you c-can h-help me w-work on my album.”

The hero shuts the front door, then says, “I’m not interested.”

“C-come on! I’m y-your brother!”

“No means no. It’s late. I’ve said no for over 15 years.”

“Y-you don’t know h-how g-great this album c-can be if we j-just work together. I-imagine if we both m-made a r-rom-romance s-s-song and it’ll infl-influence others to l-love more.”

“I heard your music. You rap about guns you don’t use, but you despise other artists for talking about the same thing.. We have two different opinions about love here, bro. Is that all you came over for?”

“P-pretty much. I j-ju-just want to f-finish my albums before I d-die. I have over eight-eighteen I’m still working on. May-maybe if you li-listened to m-my songs more, it’ll teach y-you how to be more soc-social and y-you can meet friends. I ev-even tried get-getting you a girlfriend back in high school.”

“Huh?”

“I even tried…”

The hero interrupts, “No. the first part and I didn’t want a girlfriend back then. If your dad picked out your girlfriend, would you be happy?”

“No.”

“Work in your own music. That’s it. Get the fuck out my house and brush your damn teeth!”

“No! You’re gonna li-listen to th-these songs I recorded on my cell phone.”

The hero receives a horrible flashback of his brother pummeling him to the floor countless times a day in 4 of the same shirts in over a 5 year period. He has more flashbacks of being called words like “Retard,” “Four eyes,” “Single,” and “Nerd.” More flashbacks occur on how the buffoon bullied him as he aged. Suddenly, he exits the flash back and rises from the wheelchair. His brother is shocked.

A disembodied voice, which sounds exactly like his brother enters the heroes sensitive ears, “I’m not your brother!”

The hero draws out his bloody knife from his back right pocket, and lunges it into his brother’s spleen repeatedly, approximately 48 times. His brother screams in excruciating pain, suffering blood trauma to the upper left portion of the abdomen, which causes a splenic laceration and severe blood loss. The hero then receives an inbox message on an online dating website he recently registered to. The username, “Hell No Friendly” with a profile picture of a woman with orange, curly hair, bluish-green eyeliner, and a milk-white, laced sundress, says, “My lover would have to be a family person because I’m close to mine.”

“What if the person who likes you just don’t have a good family,” the hero responds in the inbox message while typing onto a keyboard the color of kerosene.

She responds, “I’m bisexual. If he or she don’t respect their parents, they definitely won’t respect me.”

The hero blocks ” Hell No Friendly,” logs off the website, then shuts down his black laptop. Disembodied voices enter his ears, saying, “You’re going to be a fucking bum if you keep focusing on what makes you happy. Focus on what’ll pay the bills. Help me clean up around the house. Stop worry about the equality of women and worry about what you’re going through. Focus on you.” He drags his brother’s body out of the living room, but removes his brother’s black cell phone from his front right pocket before doing so. Blood leaves a trail wherever the hero drags the body..

The Next Day

As if it’s self-abuse to be diligent, the hero uses his wheelchair to head outside and police officers ransack his cottage right after he leaves the area. The officers steal valuable items, but no missing people or iota evidence is found. He witnesses one maroon convertible speeding at 100 miles per hour on a two-way road and a truck speeding at 35 miles per hour the opposite direction. Both of the cars collide puncturing their gas tanks. The impact of the crash is so powerful that the stearing wheel to the convertible detaches, remorselessly lodging into the intoxicated driver’s cranium. Suddenly, the convertible driver is engulfed in flames while the truck driver falls out his vehicle. The truck driver (with a lacerated face) falls as if though he’s suffering from a brain hemorrhage and kidney failure simultaneously, resulting in him smacking his forehead against the hard pavement.

The anonymous hero rises from his wheelchair and walks by the accident where the teenage girl he saw with rainbow moonstone colored eyes runs by. As the convertible car remains on fire, she opens the front door on the driver’s side, carrying the driver out effortlessly.. The fire divides from her and the defenseless driver. Thus, the truck owner reaches his feet, limping away while eyeing at the superhuman teenager in awe. She places the human on the sidewalk, gingerly.

The previous hero, speaks to the eighteen-year-old, “What are you?”

The woman responds, “Call me Ahona, your hometown hero. And you are?”

“Alessandro. How’d you do that?”

“From the powers that be,” she points at her house while saying, “I live just down the street, so if you need me, I’m at your service. This town can use a little cleaning up around here.”

Her house has a wreath hung on the front door. A curtain from the front view of her house moves, blocking the view from from the inside. Who does Ahona live with? Can Alessandro trust

3 Hours Later

Ahona sees Alessandro a table away from her and smiles. Alessandro’s crush sitting parallel to him, blushes. When his crush Jesse rises to leave, her hands won’t remove from the smooth, wooden table. Jesse’s flesh adheres to the wood and she attempts pulling her arms away from the table. Glass plates, cups, and silverware shake, which catches the attention of her crush and the curious customer’s at the local, fast-food restaurant. She rips the flesh off of her left palm screaming in agony. Blood spreads across the table and her crush screams while standing up, recoiling. Part of the victim’s left hand is still attached to the table as well as her full right hand. Enduring the pain, she rips her right palm from the table along with her fingers. All of his flesh is gone from one side of both hands and she sees an ominous smirk from a man in the background sitting.

Ahona walks in front of Alessandro and says, “Hey again.”