I stand midst a deserted place, as always. Only the surroundings differ, but nonetheless, deserted. Last time it was a hot blazing desert, this time it’s a beach. But beaches can’t be deserted. They are always bustling with happy voices all around, the laughter of children, the laughter of people in love, but never has deserted been associated with beaches.
Well technically, it isn’t deserted, there are people all around me, but no one blinks, no one speaks, no one laughs. They have something unusually common about them, no it’s not swim suits, sunglasses or sun blocks. They lie still, covered in blood. The beach water takes away some redness from the bodies near the shore, never had someone seen such shades of beach water. I look down, to watch my step as I walk through the disorganized graveyard. There’s no way I could walk on without stepping one of their hands, feet or any other red part of their bodies. Still, I know there’s no escaping this, I’ll have to do this. Again and again. No one can stop this, not even my screams which no one would hear, as always. I start walking, trying to avoid both looking down and stepping on someone, somewhere.As I step forward, to take my first step towards nowhere, someone grabs my dress. Instinctively, a normal person would scream until his throat can no longer get any more voice out, and run across bodies lying between the sands until he no longer sees any red. But not me, running never helps, this redness wouldn’t end even after running miles.
So I look down as to see who was it now that needed my help, for whom I was here. Or maybe he’s just a helper, but he was important I knew. Upon looking down, I see it’s a kid. Gorgeous blue-eyed boy. I would’ve appreciated his blond hair and his hopeful smile too but I don’t really want to appreciate the red tinge they now carry. I smile back weakly, that’s the best I could manage. He holds out his hand, little tiny fingered hands towards me and I grab it readily. This sweet little four or maybe five-year boy couldn’t possibly harm me, maybe he could but he’s my first step towards something unknown, something undiscovered, for which I was here.
We both start walking forward, missing someone’s legs, someone’s fingers, but by far haven’t stepped on anything but the red sand.
“How long do we walk” the blue-eyed boy asks me.
If he’d been familiar with what this was, he wouldn’t have asked. I assume he was just here because the person down in my bedroom wanted him to be here.
“I don’t know, maybe till the time we find a better, non-red place for ourselves” I reply keeping in mind that he was a normal five-year old boy, who wasn’t aware of what this was and why it was so important to the person in my bedroom, and somehow to me too.