Hidden Wings

The terrible dream

Pant... Pant... Pant...

"I need to reach him, I need to reach him, or else...!"

I was rushing to the edge of town, toward the abandoned building, my long dress flowing and my hair whipping in the wind. I stopped when I saw a trail of blood, then ran to the back where I found him lying in a pool of crimson, his face and shirt soaked, blood oozing from his chest. His hazel eyes, with flecks of green and blue, had lost their light—empty. His lips were drained of color, save for the red that stained the rest of him. I dropped to my knees, tears streaming as I reached out to touch him. His skin was cold, and the red smeared my hand and my green dress as I sat beside him, surrounded by the dark, gleaming pool. I looked up at the night sky—it was empty, just like I felt inside, mirroring his vacant eyes when I looked back. Then I sensed it—we weren’t alone. Glancing around, I caught sight of piercing blue eyes watching from a distance... and then, gone.

'3:15'

I glance at my clock.

“Same as always.” I get out of bed and head downstairs, just as I hear the back door open and close. In the kitchen, I find my brother rummaging in the fridge.

“Isaac, what are you doing up?” I ask.

“We were out of milk,” he says, grabbing the carton and pouring some into a glass. “Here.” I take it, lift it to my lips—then the liquid turns red. I drop the glass, and it shatters, splattering the crimson across the floor. I scream, stumbling back, frantically wiping my mouth and arms. When it doesn’t come off, I bolt upstairs. Isaac calls after me, asking if I’m okay, but I can’t answer. Minutes later, he knocks on my door again. I stay silent. After one last knock, he steps inside.

“Hey, what happened?” he asks. I don’t answer, and he sighs, pulling my desk chair closer. “Hey, we know better now—if something’s going on, we will talk about it. Uncle Anthony rules.” My throat tightens as I hold back sobs, my vision blurring with tears. I wipe them away, but they’re red too. I’m covered in red all over again, tears falling endlessly, staining me even more. And worst of all, when I close my eyes, I see him—covered in the same color, his empty eyes staring at me.

“Blood,” I muttered. “It’s blood,” I said quietly as I slipped out from under my covers.

“What was? The milk?” he asked. I nodded, and as he wiped my tears, I saw his hand was red. Terror gripped me. I mumbled something about going back to bed and rushed to my room, with him calling after me. In my room, I stared into the mirror—no red. I looked down at my hands and arms; nothing. Then I blinked, and it was back—on my cheeks, my hands, my arms, and even in the rain outside, now falling harder, all of it red.

“No... no...” I grabbed a paper towel from the bathroom and tried to wipe it off, but it wouldn’t go away. Isaac followed me, saying my name in hushed tones. When he reached the bathroom, I turned to speak, but caught a flash of fine pink glitter. I blinked, then retreated to my room, climbing under my covers and shutting out the sights. Soon after, I fell asleep to the sound of red rain falling.