The Snipped Red Whip

I saw her first on the bus at dusk on a Monday. We were sitting parallel to each other in the seating arranged for the disabled and the elderly. She had pouty lips with bright red lipstick and long thick red hair framing a pale face. The length of the hair was a theme, coinciding with her long legs and long arms. She stared into me and I thought I had a chance.

Meeting her eyes sheepishly, she smiled and when she smiled the world seemed to light up despite the setting sun. My eyes are a dull gray that’s never been able to move a woman any further than a millimeter either way. There was nothing in my eyes worth a second glance. Her eyes were a deep blue. If I were to stare into her eyes deep enough, I imagine I could see waves and maybe just a little bit of the Ivory Coast.

She was sitting next to Sabrina Waller. Age had shrunk Sabrina 2 inches since I first met her. Her green eyes were slowly turning to milk from behind a pair of thick glasses. Her clothes were walking the tight rope between apathy and neglect, shown apparent by the two month old coffee stain still on her blouse. Sabrina was a friend to anyone and had been for all her 80 years but right then she was listening to Gershwin and removed from the world at large.

5 minutes from my stop and the red headed woman was still staring at me, growing a large toothy smile. From behind Sabrina’s thick braided hair she pulled what seemed to be a piece of red licorice. Dumbfounded, I stared as she retrieved more and more confectionery. Then she bit into the candy and pulled with her teeth until the whole meter long piece was ripped from Sabrina. With an impossible slurp, she sucked it in. I could have sworn I saw it wriggle, resist.

Sabrina fell to the floor and never got back up. Two days later, (if her daughter told me the truth) the doctor declared her dead. I thought of mentioning the redhead with the powerful mouth but I realized no one would believe me. I had been up for 72 hours and I think I’m the only one who saw her. Maybe that’s why I saw her; she’s something that’s always there but it takes a tired mind to see.

When I think of her picking the strands of all those innocent people, I shutter. I’m pretty sure I know what she is and quite frankly I do not appreciate the service she provides. It’s been 48 hours since I last slept and I’m riding every bus I can with the hopes of finding her again. She’s probably looking for me too as my health is not what you’d call good. I thought about just sitting in that comfy chair in my living room and waiting for her to come to me but I feel I must be proactive.

The pistol feels heavier in my bag than it did in my hand.

1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. William Lawson
    Nov 18, 2011 @ 23:02:56

    Visually compelling. Reads like a film clip of a movie you’d like to see…


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