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Secret of the Crimson Ribbon
Her narrow, spider-like fingers skittered across the keyboard. The hour was no later than 3 past midnight. Sicily did not know why she was writing, just that she was. A soft ticking filled her ears, it was the clicking of the clock's needle as it danced in its never ending circle over and over.
Sebastian should have called by now. He should have called hours ago, and yet the silence of the phone was comforting. The dead silence soothed her. Kept away another yelling match between herself and her fiance. Lately it was how she could not comprehend the stress her was under, and she was sick of it. Slowly a soft tinge of anger arose in her stomach and traveled to her heart until suddenly it ceased. And the clock's needle continued to dance.
Evette had run away again. She dared not to go home after the fight she had just witnessed. It wasn't the first time she had viewed her father hitting her mother. She slammed her foot into a street lamp and didn't even feel the pain.
Walking down the road she stopped and stared at a man hunching over on the corner. Another drunk, she thought, it's two in the morning and another drug-lover like my father lost his way home.
One in the morning, midnight had been a glorious hour for him but this was by far more pleasant. Drinking and partying with his friends from the office. Sicily would understand, he thought, it's all strictly for business.
As he stammered out of the club's doors, the world turned to haze and smoke. Blurred in vision he drunkenly swayed down alleys and through neighborhoods. Then he saw her. A young girl in all white, lovely thing she was with silvery blond hair tied up in crimson ribbons. As he drew closer, pulled in from awe and excitement, he reached out to touch her. She glowed with a pale light that dimmed as he passed through her. She took no notice. Sicily, he screamed, Sicily look at me!
He doubled over in a fit of tears and laughter. Stop it Sicily, he begged, stop judging me for the things I do. The mute girl turned and walked away. Leaving him stranded in a drunken rage on the corner.
Sicily felt ill. Something about the sudden staleness of the air didn't sit right. She reached for her once hot cup of tea and took a long sip of the icy contents. The bitterness and grime from the tea leaves that had escaped into the cup attacked her tongue. She tried to scrape the vile taste out of her mouth, but it was a vain attempt.
Sebastian, she thought, I will stay up only a few hours more and after that you are no longer my worry. She untied the silky, crimson ribbon in her hair and wrapped it around her wrist knotting it into a bow. Sicily loved that ribbon more than she loved Sebeastian at times. It had been with her since she could remember, and she knew how much he despised it.
She ran. She ran like she was a split second from winning gold at the Olympics. Scarlet colored liquid dripped from her fingertips like sweat. Evette didn't know why she had done it but that she had wanted to know what it felt like to hit a living person. To understand why her father enjoyed hitting her mother.
He was a dunk like your father, she reminded herself calmly, therefore he deserved it.
Sicily was just about to crawl into her bed for the night to attempt to capture a few hours of sleep before work when she heard a thunderous knock at the door. She trudged to the door realizing she only was being covered up by a small white slip. If this is Sebastian he can sleep outside for all I care, she cursed into the empty room, teach him to worry me like this.
The knocking grew heavy then faint in a waving pattern. Sicily swung open the door with gusto and screamed. Before her was Sebastian, crumpled into a bloody heap of torn skin and gashed muscles. His hair was now coarse and matted with blood. His breathe reeked of alcohol. Sicily felt no sympathy or pity for him. She thanked whoever had done this to him.
She knew he couldn't possibly be dead. She didn't feel the crunch of bones as she had ripped into his flesh, just the flow of blood. Evette suddenly recognized the face of the drunk she had beaten. It was Sicily's fiance. That brute had left her to be with the rich snob. I should have given him a harder beating, she thought, maybe next time I'll finish him off.
As Sicily retied her crimson ribbon into her hair, she gazed at her fiance crumpled up on the floor. Such a pathetic mess, she whispered, such a disgrace just like that girl I peeled you off of a couple years back. She knelt down, checked his pulse, and ran her bony fingers through his grimy hair. Her fingers came away red with blood. She wiped it on her slip disgusted, and left to change.
After washing up she looked at herself in the mirror. She wasn't a murderer, she said convincing herself. Sitting back down at her desk in a new housecoat she tried to type again. This time her fingers shaky as they scampered like a mouse over the keys. The ticking of the clock's never ending dance almost distracted her from a soft knock on the door.
He was clearly half dead before he even got here, she said to herself, he just recently happened to finish. And with that she turned the knob on the door.