Dimples and Curls (Original Short Story)

Sometimes you just have to ask the questions that you know don't have an answer. Even if they do have an answer, knowing the answer ruins the mystery and saps your imagination. Yet, you still can't stop scrambling and searching ceaselessly for the answers. 

Why is the earth round? 

Why is the sky so high?

Why is the sky blue? 

Why is it so orange right now? 

Why is the road red below my feet? 

Why is Ru here? 

Why is Ru standing a few feet ahead of me? 

Why is Ru smiling at me? 

Why is Ru holding a knife in his hand? 

Why is the knife red? 

Why is Ru drawing closer? 

Why am I standing still and looking at him? 

Why am I not running for my life? 

Why--

My thoughts skid to a stop when Ru is right in front of me and the blade mere inches away from my chest. Ru is not very tall and has to hold his arm up high to aim it at my chest. Ru is just as tall as your average fifth-grader and the mess of brown curls atop his head look just like that of a kid. Tiny dimples adorn his cheeks as he smiles. His big brown eyes appear not unlike a toddler looking up at his mother. The adorable appearance cannot mask the sense of danger, recklessness and ruthlessness emanating from him. His brown eyes have lit up with joy that offsets his cold and piercing gaze. The tiny smile that brings out his dimples is one that sneers and rejoices at the destruction left in his wake. The one that I had last seen through eyes blurred by tears, the smile that I thought I'd never see again when he was put in the ground. 

His magnetic smile lifts up even more as he patiently waits for my internal monologue to end, his arm steady and armed with the blade that is still dripping all over the place. He doesn't need to speak a word as my eyes dart immediately to his eyes and his smirk widens. In the reflection of his cold brown eyes, I can see my face. My eyes are wide and my lips are trembling. Embarrassed, I turn away, force my lips together and narrow my eyes. It's only been a second but I can't resist turning back to look at Ru. He's even closer now and I see my reflection in high definition. I don't like the way my face looks, like I've seen a ghost. Perhaps I just have though. Ru rose from the dead, didn't he? 

There's a sudden startled noise behind me and Ru steps aside, swinging his blade as he moves in for the kill. I cannot bear to turn and face them. I can't look anywhere except straight ahead as I am frozen in my position. A few sickening thuds sound alongside screams. Ru laughs out loud and I am no longer rooted in my position as I rush towards him. 

Ru seems to have anticipated this and merely steps aside. I barrel past him and manage to put the brakes a second later. Ru catches up to me in no time, his footsteps disturbingly loud. He's making noises and his footsteps are actually crunching on the dried debris littering the street. Does that mean he isn't actually a ghost? Oh, wait. He actually killed those people, he's not a ghost. 

How is this possible? I saw him die! I was there during the accident two years ago. The falling building separated us and I heard his screams. He was put in the ground by that skyscraper. I saw it, with my own two eyes. I was wailing but I still did see it. Ru died. Ru didn't make it. So how is he still here? 

His faint voice sounds out, startling away my thoughts. His voice sounds so frail but is the loudest thing here, apart from my thoughts of course. 

"Sis, you're overthinking again, aren't you?" 

I speechlessly stare at him. Disbelief must be writ large on my face as his expression softens a little. He gives me a little smile, one that is warm and loving. It drops when his eyes dart to the side and he runs and tackles another one of them. That blade is insatiable, he's been trying to quench it's thirst but it keeps asking for more. It's now a brighter red than I ever thought naturally possible. 

Ru turns around and catches me staring at the blade. With a sigh, he wipes it on it's latest victim's clothes. It's not enough and the cloth is immediately saturated. He gets another cloth and another and another until it's much better. It's not as clean as a kitchen knife in the house of someone who never cooks, but it'll have to do. A dull pink film remains on the blade as a reminder of its large round of drinks. 

"You know, Sis, I really wish it'd never come down to this. I hate that you're seeing me like this, a cold-blooded murderer. I'm sorry if I scared you earlier. But really, what choice do I have?" 

I don't reply but I want to scream at him that there could've been so much more he could've done before it all whittled down to this. He had a choice, but he chose wrong. He still has a choice to change. My words won't matter to him, even despite the few stray tears that manage to flee his eyes. 

"I miss you so much, Sis. And don't you worry, I'm getting revenge for you."

My little brother shoots a rueful smile at me and rushes straight forward at another soon-to-be food for his blade. I run after him but stop dead in my tracks when I realise that he passed right through me and my feet are the ones that are noiseless.