The Book of La Mort Rouge

November 30, 2007
By Leticia Torriente, La Mesa, CA

Elizabeth ambled down the vacant street, her black hair shimmering in the moon’s incandescent glow. Guided by the sky’s luminous lighthouse, she meandered leisurely until she reached a dilapidated, gray house. She turned into the house’s melancholic pathway, indifferent to the house’s frayed appearance. As she reached for the door, her eyes detected an object lying inconspicuously under a wooden chair. She reached down and lifted an aged tome adorned with crimson letters. She walked into her forlorn home and lighted a candle on her desk. She read the inscription on the cover, “The Book of La Mort Rouge”. She opened to the first page and read, “Hello Elizabeth. I am glad you finally found me”. With each turn, the pages filled with more and more scarlet letters. Enthralled, she continued to read each reddening page. Through an open window, a gust of wind blew into the room turning the last page, now a solid sheet of crimson. Elizabeth was nowhere to be found.

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