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Santiago backed away. His mind raced with images of death, bloodsheds, tears and guilt on faces of people he does not recognize. He backed away from the letter, further and further.

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Warm blasts of wind embraced the figure in white standing all alone in the midst of the green grasses and weeds in the open field. He shuddered because even though the day was perfect, there was an uneasy feeling in the atmosphere. He took a few steps backwards because looking eastwards, the sun was blinding him. He turned around and ran into a door that seemed to appear out of thin air. He was puzzled for a moment as he reached forward to open the door. Just then, sounds of a bird came from up above and he turned his head upwards to have a look at it. It was a seagull flying high up in the sky in a straight line heading right over top of him. As the bird got closer to him, it bent his head down to look at the man in white, making eye contact, then it let go of a letter it was holding on to with his back legs. The bird made him nervous; its eyes were cold and lifeless. ...read more.


The scene was haunting. He wanted to escape but he knew it was not possible. For a moment he closed his eyes again, and like a magnet he was attracted to the door that had reappeared behind him. His hands were then pinned perpendicular to the door and his legs forming an upside down "v" against it. He opened his eyes and saw the two red figures still standing in the same position. He tried to move but it was no use. The people around him were drawing around the two figures in red as if they were possessed. Frozen in the same position, he was forced to watch the crowd. The puppets and their masters stood still for what seemed like hours to look at him. They slowly started to turn their heads, except now the pale faces of the entire crowd was covered in crimson liquid. The little albino boy looked into his eyes, the same shade as the liquid on his face. They burned into him, warning him. This little boy, he saw everything in him. ...read more.


In a split second, like fog lifting off of his vision, the faces of the strangers seemed clearer with details. But they were not strangers. The two figures in the red were two of his friends, the Vicario brothers. Most of the faces that met his were people he knew or loved. He felt betrayed and disgusted. Santiago tried to stand up but both brothers drove their bloody swords through his back. He cried out in agony but again no blood came out. Santiago ran out of energy but he still struggled to stand up. The crowd watched him agonize and did not help him. After a few minutes they all started walking away from him. The man dressed in white now lay in the middle of the dirty field covered with his own blood, as the heavens cried out in pain over the loss of a hero. The fallen hero who was betrayed by everyone he knew, everyone that had the power to help him failed. Tears poured down from heaven, the cold body lay on the grass as day gave into the night and the ice cold tears tortured the already dead body to another painful death. ...read more.

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