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The Crimson RedLoading...
Written by Philippe Pilon
BOOM! The sound of the shotgun shell bursting filled Harry’s ears. The adrenaline kicked in. He felt as if a burning knife was running through his heart. Even though he heard the sound of the chrome wheels drive away, Harry couldn’t think straight, so he ran like a mouse fleeing a cat but with no pursuer chasing him. There was nothing he could do. It was too late. He kept on running, his face pale and his soul crushed, in the dark woods of Germany’s Dreaded Black Forest. Harry couldn’t contain the pain, so he let out a hollow cry for help, but only the devil answered. He had a hole through his chest, but the burning knife was gone as if it had been gently removed from his heart. He couldn’t feel his body anymore on this cold winter night. He thought he saw the light, but it was the moon glowing a grimey yellow. He fell to his knees. It was almost as if his toes had completely frozen, immobilized by the grim reaper’s grip. He looked up but no one answered, so his bloody hands fell to the snow. His body collapsed, but his eyes stayed open as the glowing white snowflakes on the ground began to turn to a crimson red around him, finally holding on to him tight, the fallen angels, the doers of the devil's bidding, brought him below.