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Red with White

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NOTE: This pasta was written by Bulbasaur, !MuteSwan!, and an Anonymous known as Derp.
This is a prelude to White with Red. Read that first if you haven't.



Cloudysky

It was a gray, cloudy night. My newly married husband and I were leaving for our honeymoon location. Originally we planned on Hawaii, but that was too expensive so we decided to go to Las Vegas instead. There was a storm coming in and he hates driving in terrible weather. Luckily for us there was a hotel in the distance, and I persuaded him to stop. The windows darkened by thick dust, the old roof missing shingles, and the rickety and dilapidated door all added to a dreary appearance. It was, however, the only place to stop. We pulled into the abandoned parking lot, found a spot near the door and parked the car. As we opened the doors of the car and ran to the rickety old hotel through sheets of drenching rain, we noticed that the establishment seemed old and unkempt and would have left if not for the "vacancy" sign illuminated up front. My husband pushed open one of the doors and nearly broke it off its rusty hinge. There was a woman sitting at the front desk reading a magazine. She glanced up and said "Do you need a room?"

My husband, in a bad mood due to having to put off our trip to Vegas, simply nodded yes and paid for the key. He took the key from the woman, and asked where our room was. The woman said it was on the second floor, and it was the thirteenth room. We quickly headed towards our room.

"Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Here it is." I said to my tired husband.

Upon reaching room thirteen I felt an overwhelming sense of unease but shrugged it off as a by-product of the long car drive. My husband put the key into the hole, turned it and opened the door. A small creak was let out as the door opened. We ventured into our room for the night and I felt a shiver go down my spine. "Something feels off..." I said. "Let's get to bed; I want to get up bright and early to get to Vegas tomorrow. Let's not make this a huge set-back," my husband gruffly replied. We hopped into bed, and I quickly fell into a fitful sleep. I was suddenly shaken awake by a jolt from my husband and his incessant screaming. I shook him awake and all he would say was "Red Eyes, Red Eyes, Red Eyes," before drifting back into an uneasy sleep. I awoke one more time that night, sweat pouring down my neck as I had the scariest dream. My husband had a knife and he was chasing me through the room. His laugh was like a madman's; unforgettable. I turned a bit, and nudged him.

"Honey, are- are you awake?" I managed to get out in a shaky voice.

All I heard was laughter, faint at first but it started to pick up. I don't know what it was, it sounded like the same laughter from my dream.

"Red Eyes, Red Eyes, Red Eyes," my husband chanted over and over, "Red Eyes, Red Eyes, Red Eyes."

"Baby, are you okay?" I ask pleadingly, hoping to make him stop. He slowly turned to me with a smile that showed both rows of teeth. "Red Eyes, Red Eyes, Red Eyes," he continued to repeat. Looking now from his hideous smile to his eyes, I could see that they were blood red. Horrified, I leaped out of bed, shrieking in terror. I tried to ask what was wrong with him. "Please honey... Please say something else..." I uttered helplessly.

It was then that I noticed, in his hand he had a small, sharp knife. He laughed menacingly as he slid the blade across his palm, blood dripped from where he had just cut. I ran towards the door trying to open it and get out, only to find that it was locked and I was trapped inside. Seeing that I had no way out, I ran towards the window on the far side of the room. But it was in vain for that too was sealed shut. Tears streamed from my eyes as I could hear my husband stepping closer and closer, laughing maniacally with every step.

He swung the knife towards me, but to no avail. I side-stepped it without much room, and was left with a small cut. I grappled onto his body begging him to stop, pleading him to please stop staring deeply into his eyes. They were a deep red, with no emotion in them whatsoever, it’s like he wasn't in control of his actions. Another blow came towards my body, it tore a part of my shirt and a small cut dripped blood onto the carpet. You know how they say third times the charm? Well, in his case he got lucky, the blade found its way to me. A slow, tear rolled its way out of my eye, I thought to myself about how I lost my husband.

No longer than a second passed before that tiny blade was plunged into my stomach, being thrust over and over. Blow after blow, the blade was becoming drenched with my blood. Looking down I could see my innards slipping out of the gashes in my torso. I have never felt pain like this before, tears flowed from my eyes. There was nothing I could do to stop him, I was leaning over in pain while my husband laughing took the knife and started to lick the blade clean of blood. I was in between holding my wounds and wiping my tears; my face was full of dark, red blood. Leaning against the wall I could feel myself slipping away... And all I could see was red, blood red.

Years passed, and at last someone tried to pay me a visit. I don't think he saw me on the other side of the room. This morning, when he decided to visit again I wanted to make sure he saw me, so I pressed my eyes to the hole chanting to myself, "Red Eyes, Red Eyes, Red Eyes," the same way my husband did to me those years ago.

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