A Bloodred Sky

The spray of clouds across the sky of Charming, California was deep red. On this side there was no shade and few buildings and the bus stop sign was between two street intersections in the sun. Close against the side of the sign there was the sunlit shelter of the bus stop and a bench, made of faded wood, under the shelter of the bus stop where travellers could rest while they waited. The dark-haired man and a blond man sat at the bench in the shade of the shelter. It was very bright and the intercity bus from Sacramento would come in forty minutes. It stopped here for four minutes and then went on to San Francisco.

"Should we really go?" the taller, dark-haired man asked.

"The sunrise is pretty," the blond one said.

"It's too bright," the dark-haired man said.

"Really?" the other asked.

"Yes."

The pair fell silent. The taller one looked up through the clear glass of the bus stop shelter at the sunrise. The clouds were stained a dark, watery red.

"It looks like blood," he remarked.

"It's pretty to me," the blond said.

"You don't see it how I do."

"Maybe I do," the blond said. "Just because you say I don't doesn't mean anything."

The dark-haired one turned away from the sunrise. He picked up a crinkled newspaper off the ground in the corner of the stop littered with scraps of paper, fast food wrappers, and cigarettes.

"Last week a gang came through Charming," he said. "Big deal, right?"

"Sure it is."

The taller one continued skimming the page.

"That has nothing to do with anything," the blond said.

"Three people were killed. Might as well have to do with us."

"It was just one, and we didn't get in the news."

"Might as well have been three."

The dark-haired one looked around the bus stop at the surrounding streets. All the buildings glittered red in the sunrise. There was a bar across the street, and next to that a small theater and an office complex, and a police station a few blocks down.

"You going?" the blond asked.

"You coming too?"

"No."

"Why?"

"The sunrise is pretty."

"No, it's not. It's too red and bright. Can't escape from the brightness."

"Yes we can."

"No. We ruined it for ourselves."

"San Francisco-"

"-will just have more red sunrises."

His companion had reached into his sweater. The taller one stood, still looking down the street. "I'm going. You should come."

The dark-haired man left the bus stop and started walking down the street in the direction he had been looking. The blond watched him for a few seconds. He slowly removed his hand - no longer empty - from the inner pocket of his sweater.

"Suit yourself," the blond said, then he took his aim.