Red. The color of passion.

She urged me to wear a red dress, she told me I’d be an attention magnet.

I liked what she said, I wanted to be desired.

Now I am in a club. My friends left, it’s just me. People are dancing, I want to try it too but I drank too much, I can only stagger and sway.

My red dress, even darker. Is it still my spilled drink or is it.

I breath in sharply.

A shrieking sound.

“I’m coming to get you” a low pitched voice threatens.

The music, muffled. The people, still dancing.

Is no one hearing what I am hearing?

A loud cry leaves me body. I’m huddling on the ground.

Loud voices around me. “I will get you” another threat, another shriek.

The next second:

I’m standing up again. A man looks at me worried. I start to dance. “Don’t you see how sexy I am? In my red dress?” I’m slurring.

The man is away. He wasn’t fun.

Another man is touching my body through my red dress.

“Let’s leave the club” I suggest and suddenly we are in his bed.

Red, the color of passion. My friend was right, after all.

He is about to take me.

A loud shriek. Again.

“Kill him.” The low pitched voice says. “Kill this man!” The low pitched voice commands.

I get up, run to where I locate the kitchen.

I rummag through the drawers until I finally find what I need.

The man. He is behind me, looking at me with in shock opened eyes.

An evil laugh leaves my body. How good to have this power.

The intrusive thoughts are overwhelming.

I pull up the knife and stab. And stab and stab and stab.

Screams. I don’t know if they’re mine or his.

Something red sprinkles on my dress.

Red, the color of blood.