A Crimson Bed
A short story by Mikey J

What happened? What just happened?
Why am I lying on the ground? A hard surface. Concrete? Tarmac? Must be something like that. I can feel sharp shards of gravel aggravating my back. Surely I didn’t assume this place and position by choice. Why would I do that? What happened? Why am I lying here?
I remember walking down a street. I was on my way to Dave’s house. He’s got my lawnmower. He borrowed it last autumn and never returned it. He’s always doing that. Typical. My garden is the mother of all jungles, while you could quite happily play bowls on Dave’s perfectly manicured lawn. There’s not a lot else I can recall really. Oh, apart from that old man dressed in black.
Who was that guy? He must’ve been bloody hot in that thick black suit of his. Even with just my shorts and tee-shirt on, the humidity has been verging on unbearable these past few days, so he must’ve been roasting. Who was he? Did I know him? He seemed to know me, what with all that frantic beckoning he was doing. I’m sure I also saw him earlier, but my memory is a bit hazy at the moment. Can’t forget him, though. That old man in the black suit. Grey wispy hair; gaunt frame; lily white skin. Yes, lily white. Whiter than white could possibly ever be. He certainly hadn’t been out in the sun, that’s for sure. But who was he? Wait a minute. There was something else. He didn’t have a face. I can’t remember him having a face. It was just… grey. A cloudy grey area where his face should have been. But what am I talking about? No face? I must be going mad. Of course he had a face. Everybody has a face.
I feel pain. Ouch, that hurts! I’m not really sure where the pain is coming from. Seems to be coming from all directions. Everything seems a little bewildering. All I know is that I feel a hot kind of searing pain. Reminds me of when I was a small child in those lazy hazy days of summer. You know, when you fall off your bike and even the smallest of grazes on your knee feels like the worst pain ever endured, all because the weather is hot and sticky, and your salty sweat is irritating the wound as best as it can.
This pain, however, feels different. Throbbing. Pulsating. Attacking me from all angles. Mind you, in complete contrast, I can’t feel my legs at all. That’s a bit weird. What a strange sensation. No legs. Well, they’re there, but they’re not. Do you see what I mean? Probably not. I reckon it sounds daft to you, but to me it makes perfect sense.
I can feel my arms. Well, one of them at least. That’s good, because my forehead feels as if it’s awash with sweat. It’s the hot weather, you see. I always sweat like a pig this time of year. There, that’s it! Wiped away. Oh, wait a minute. That’s not sweat. It smells different. It looks different. Sweat is never a dark crimson colour. Oh, my God! It’s blood! I’m bleeding! Why am I bleeding? What happened? Why am I lying here?
I can feel my heart beating ten to the dozen. Funny expression, that. Ten to the dozen. Probably something I picked up from my parents. And they picked it up from theirs. Someone must have thought it up originally, though. Someone must have said it first. However, at the time, they probably couldn’t even conceive that their humble little saying would last for generations.
My head hurts. Every beat of my heart is making it worse. Thump, thump, thump! In fact, my whole body is aching. The pain is intense now. Unbearable, excruciating pain. Oh, come back summer graze of the knee. All is forgiven! I can’t think straight. My thoughts keep straying off on tangents. Why can’t I stay focussed? What the hell happened? This is getting annoying now. What happened? Why am I lying here?
Everything is a bit of a blur now. I see people. Lots of people. They’re looking down at me. They’re people, but no one I know. Strangers. Total strangers, all trying to grab a place in the audience surrounding me. People at the back trying to push forward. People in front struggling to keep hold of their place. Everybody wants a look. Everybody wants to catch a glimpse of the man lying on the ground. Why won’t anybody tell me what happened? I keep asking, but no one will answer my questions. Everybody wants to see me. No one wants to talk to me.
Everybody is talking. All talking at once. I don’t understand. I can’t really catch what anyone is saying. Why can’t they take turns? Why do they all have to speak at once in some kind of mumbled unison of voice? Why won’t anybody answer my questions? What did he just say? That man in the yellow shirt. Yes, that man there. Said something about some idiot walking out into the road in front of him without looking. That’s a bit stupid. No wonder he called him an idiot. What’s that he just said? What does he mean he didn’t have time to stop? Stop what? Oh, I guess he’s talking about a car. And that idiot walking out in the road. Yes, it’s making sense now. He knocked some idiot over. Well, if that’s the case, why aren’t people crowding around the idiot? Why am I the centre of attention?
Oh, no! The pain has returned. Hurts so much. I thought it had gone, but I was wrong. Being lost in thought momentarily took the pain away. Wait a minute. That’s it! Think. Think. Think, man. Think of something. Anything. No, I can’t think anymore. I’m all thinked out! The pain is too much. I’m bleeding. So much blood. It’s seeping out of my torn flesh, trickling down my brow and forming a scarlet pool on the ground beneath me. I’m lying on a crimson bed. I feel weak. My head is still throbbing. Thump, thump, thump! I’m so tired. I’m so weak. I’m so…
There he is! The old man in the black suit. He’s watching me. He’s behind the crowd of eager spectators. I can just about see him. Just standing there. Looking at me. And… no face. I was right. He has no face. Oh, my God! He really has no face! Wait a minute. What’s he doing now? He’s walking towards me. I’ve got to get away. I can’t move. I’m stuck. I’m helpless. He’s getting nearer. I can’t move my arm anymore. I can’t even feel it. In fact, I can’t move or feel anything anymore. Everything is… well… numb.
The old man in the black suit is now standing over me. He just walked effortlessly through my audience as if they weren’t there. Now he’s outstretching a hand. Covering my face. Everything is growing darker. I can’t feel anything. I can’t see anything. I can’t hear anything. Nothing. No sight. No sound. Darkness. Where am I? What happened? Why am I lying here?

THE END