She stood there, her skin a dead white, a pale gray that reminded him of the dead. Garish yellow hair with a green hint, like she spent too much time in chlorine.

Staring at him, feeling small and insignificant, he just gazes at his hands feeling her move to bend beside him. Her cold whispery touch gliding down his arm, yanking his elbow and pushing him on the ground.

Crashing he bites his lip and winces at the coppery taste of blood. He gasps and the blood coats his lips with a fine spray. Some splatters on the cracked concrete floor, dirt and blood intermingling.

Still she stares.

He doesn’t like the pressure, the taste on her oppression. Her cold cruelty and emotionless eyes. The never ending desire for the intense weight of her sight, bowing him lows to the filthy decayed earth.

She kneels, off white dress hugging her skinny figure, bone poking at material. She looks half starved and is. The crisp white scarf encircles her neck, brighter than her dress; it hangs past her dress and knees. Tassels touch the ground, tangled ends.

Lifting up her up her scarf, she drags it slowly across his lips. Red blood quickly stains the white fabric.

She lets the scarf fall and it curls around of the ground.

And she looks at him.

Leans down and –

He wakes up.

Wind is blowing gently through his open window. His previously closed window… The curtains move with the breeze.

Looking in the mirror, in gasps. The sound startling his in the shifting quiet.

A blood red kiss, on his cheek, marking him.

The blows over his cheek and the red kiss fades as the wind intensifies. Leaving him with nothing but the taste of blood in his mouth.

Wind… brushing past his lips, like a kiss.