Red

Jose Aviles-Baquero ‘22

The stench. It occupied every last bit of fresh air. The smell of coffee, steam, and milk. The smell of tears, shock, and terror. The smell of rubber, flesh, blood. Bystanders surrounded Lydia while she screamed.

“It's all my fault! It's all my fault!” Everything was red.  

Earlier in the day, Lydia woke up around 9:30. She had a shift at a coffee shop down the street called Rosemary Cafe. Her shift was supposed to start at 11 so she was doing fine on time. She got up, showered, put on her uniform, and left the apartment.  

As soon as she stepped outside of her building, her senses got flooded. She was met with loud sirens, caution tape, and an indiscernible red blur in her vision. Her eyes adjusted as she stepped closer to the scene. As her eyes focused, she saw that the red blur was from the ambulances and the unrecognizable body of the person on the concrete. She couldn’t understand what had happened. She stepped closer. Lydia saw an arm, what seemed to be a finger, and a torso before the EMTs quickly covered what they could with a tarp. Lydia, shaken from the scene, lowered her head and started walking away. On the ground surrounding the chaos, was a clear straight line of blood, going in the direction she was headed.  

After leaving the horrific scene, Lydia decided to go to Starbucks a bit further from her job just so she doesn’t run into any coworkers she doesn’t want to. After getting her usual order, she started walking back to Rosemary. As she walked, she saw red lines appearing everywhere. There was a red line on the building next to her and another line that seemed to be guiding her to Rosemary. The red line abruptly stopped in front of her on the corner she needed to cross. Right as she put her foot out, a car sped by. A bright red car nicked the toe of her shoe, twisting her right foot outwards. She collapsed backward, her drink spilling all over the sidewalk. Her foot was ok, but the front of her shoe was bright red from the paint of the car. She collected herself and walked across the street to the coffee shop.  

Lydia walked into Rosemary, put her apron on and got to work. Her coworkers asked her throughout the shift how she’s doing, but Lydia didn’t say anything. All she can think about is the red mark on her shoe. How close she was to not being able to work that day. How close she was to ending up like that body outside of the apartment. Her movements making drinks were almost automated, but her mind was racing so fast everything seemed to be moving so slowly. She worked a full day at Rosemary, closing at night. 

She finished counting up the register and getting everything settled. She grabbed her bag and turned off the lights. She was still nervous about stepping outside again. Next to the street, cars, and possible red paint. She sat in the dark for a second, attempting to regain control of herself, to be able to get home. “It’s just a few blocks,” she told herself. She stepped outside and darted to the left, on a mission to get back to safety.  

Lydia kept her eyes down and started walking. Past her feet flew red colors, construction marks, lollipops, and the line. The red kept following her until it stopped at a horizontal end point. In front of the line stood a tall figure. Their face wasn’t visible; all Lydia could see was a white shirt with red gloves.

With an indistinguishable voice, the figure said, “slow down, are you ok?”

Lydia stopped, shocked. “Huh?”

“I said, are you okay?”

Lydia couldn’t grasp what they were saying. It was all too much. The street right next to them was bustling with cars, the pavement shone red from the brake lights. She was surrounded.

“Please leave me alone.”

“Let me walk you home,” the person said, walking closer.

Lydia stepped back against the side of the building. “No, I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” they said.

Lydia had had enough. She screamed, “Please leave me alone!”

Any possibility of friendliness from the figure disappeared in an instant. They lunged at Lydia with their red gloves and stripped the bag away from her hands.  

Lydia shot backwards, screaming. The figure lunged for her again before she put her hands out, elbows bent, and pushed them back with all her might. They stumbled back, tripping over the bag. Lydia realized what she’d done. In an instant, the figure fell into the street, when a red-painted car sped by. In swift motion, the wheels swallowed up the body of the person. 

  Whatever indication of what they looked like was gone. All that was left was red. Their face was stripped from itself. The white shirt had been stained black and red from the ground, car, and themselves. A brutal crunch and splatter overtook all sounds. A life dissolved into asphalt. The only thing left in one piece was their lower leg.

Lydia looked from the top down: first bone, then blood, red-tainted skin, and the figure’s shoe. The shoe was white, with a blood-red mark on the toe. And the stench…. It smelled like coffee.