Smoke and Mirrors

Normally I wouldn't use my blog for this but I'm so proud of this story. Enjoy!

SMOKE AND MIRRORS

Step. Step. Slide. Maria ran down the alley, stumbling over bits of loose trash. She could barely see through the haze of smoke that clouded her vision. She had no idea where the smoke had come from, but it was New York. It's not hard to find heavy smoke in the back streets of the Bronx. She coughed, a violent expelling of gas from her lungs. But more smoke simply took its place. Maria couldn't remember what she was running from, but she knew that she had to get as far away as possible from the apartment on East 222nd Street. Apartment 32B, Maria's home since arriving in Manhattan. Step. Step. Slide. She remembered how she and her boyfriend Tom had walked down the street from the apartment to get coffee at that little family-run business on the corner. They went every Wednesday after Tom got off the late shift at North Central Bronx Hospital. He was an emergency room nurse there, and he often came home shaking from the things he'd seen overnight. She had always comforted him when that happened. Step. Step. Slide. They hadn't been to that little family-run coffeehouse in a while. Maria couldn't remember how long it had been, but she did remember it had been no paltry amount of time. She had lived down in Florida since her birth, in Tampa. Her family, of Cuban descent, lived a few blocks away from the beach.  She had always loved to swim, and her family often called her "our little water bear." She had loved it when her father ruffled her hair and growled playfully at her. Step. Step. Slide. Bits of crushed pavement bounced against the ground in the alleyway behind her, and she flinched. Maria's mind, smoke-muddled, flashed back to a few weeks ago. Step. Step. Slide. She had come home from the bookstore lugging two bags full of mystery novels. Maria had always loved to read the mysteries and the thrillers with the twist endings. Tom constantly gave her grief about the mysteries and thrillers. He was more into science fiction and fantasy. She set one bag of books down and fumbled in her purse for the key. She opened the door and brought the books in, setting them in the minuscule foyer. "Tom?" she called, "I'm home!" Tom had called her from the hospital two hours ago, telling her he was feeling sick and that he was headed home. All of the lights were off. This wasn't normal. "Tom?" Maria stepped into the house. There was one light on in the kitchen: Tom's laptop, sitting open and blaring music from one of his online games. "Tom? Why aren't you answering me?" She walked into the hallway and then she saw it. The shadow of something in the doorway of the bedroom. She called Tom's name once more. "Babe? Is that you?" No answer. At this point Maria knew something was wrong, and she was shaking in fear. That thought had barely crossed through her head when an ear-shattering scream ripped through the air. Smoke blasted out in plumes from the doorway. Maria's legs shocked into action and she sprinted to the door. As she watched, something slipped out the open window. But she only saw that for a split second. The next thing that captured her gaze was Tom. But it wasn't Tom anymore. Just a corpse secured to the wall above the bed frame with a length of pipe through the chest. Smoke was heavy in the air. Blood covered the bed sheets and poured from a hole in her boyfriend's stomach. She could see the wall through the gaping rip in Tom's abdomen. "Oh my god..." Maria couldn't feel anything in her body. She was completely frozen at the sight. Then she had collapsed. Step. Step. Slide. The sound of more crushed asphalt rolling across the ground pulled her from her memories, and she began to run again. Suddenly, she burst out onto the street. But something was wrong. No one was on the street. Cars sat in mind-numbing rows of traffic, but drivers and passengers were absent. The sky was a dark purple color, and smoke clouded the street. Maria began to run down the sidewalk, shivering in terror. She had just realized something. The last time she had smelled this smoke was the night Tom had been killed. Then, a shadow loomed from the murk in front of her. She screamed, and it echoed lifelessly through the streets of Manhattan. The figure was naked, and smoke flowed from its body. It had a nimble frame, and claws grew from its fingers in place of nails. Its skin was a sickly pale color, and cuts stitched shut oozed blood all over its body. But its face was the worst. Staples held its eyelids open, revealing bloodshot eyes with red irises. Its cheeks were sliced open in a gaping smile, and stitches criss-crossed the open wounds. Its teeth were shattered in its mouth, and blood dripped from its cheeks. It held a length of sharpened pipe covered in barbed wire in its right hand. That was the sharp pain in between her breasts as the figure stabbed the pipe through her, securing her against the wall. As her vision began to fade, she saw it raise a clawed hand. She screamed as the monster sliced into her stomach. Step. Step. Slide.


THE END