Blood-Stained Scarf (A Short Story)



*throws confetti in the air*

Ahem. Yes, it is break and I’m going to celebrate this glorious fact by putting up some posts I’ve had in mind for a while. Some are short stories, or poems, or reflections. And since break is until January 20, please be anticipating more posts from me!

To start off, I present to you the story I wrote in French class two years ago. It was right after our high school’s drama production. In the show, there was a character who was rich but damaged and turned to drugs for solace. This character really struck me and I decided to write him a story.

Note: I don’t know everything about drug abuse or anything of that kind. This writing is based off the limited knowledge I have on the subject, so please do excuse the potential errors in the story. 


Hunter was standing alone next to the brick wall. I raised an eyebrow-usually he’d be off talking with his rich preppy gang, or surrounded by a flock of girls. His back was turned against me, so for all I knew, he could have been snogging someone. But he seemed tense, and when he hunched over, it was a quick, almost practiced gesture. Then he straightened out, took a swig out of his famous ruby studded water bottle, and walked away with his typical I’m-the-king-of-the-world swagger. He was hasty though-a tiny orange bottle peeked out from his pocket. As his pace quickened, it slipped out and clattered on the concrete floor. He didn’t know and continued walking, probably to rendezvous with Travis or Bentley.

When he was out of sight, I ran forward to pick up the little bottle. It really was tiny-tiny enough to perfectly fit into someone’s pocket without any suspicions. The label had been ripped off-all that was left was the annoying sticky residue.

“You okay?” my friend Katrina asked with a curious look. “As soon as Hunter walked off, you sprinted to where he was crazy fast. What gives?”

I showed her the tiny orange bottle. She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“This came from Hunter Peterson’s pocket?” she said in an incredulous voice.


“No, it can’t be,” she said as she threw it back at me, as if it were poison.

“Why not?” I asked, confused.

Katrina stated bluntly, “Those types of bottles hold on ‘happy pills.'” Her eyes glazed over and her fists clenched. Her older brother, Terren, died two years ago because of overdose on his ‘magical little friends.’

My jaw dropped. Hunter? Hunter Peterson?- No, it couldn’t be. Why would a snobby rich kid who had it all need pills? I mean, he had the money, the wheels, the girls, the whole school… I shook my head. Not Hunter. Not the kid I used to be best friends with in kindergarten. I shoved the bottle into my jacket pocket and Katrina gave me an incredulous look.

“What are you DOING?” she hissed angrily. “Throw that away NOW.”

“Oh please, I won’t be tempted to use them.”

“But if you get caught with them, you’ll be suspended for who knows how long!” She had a point. But I wanted to know. I had to know. After all, it might’ve been my only chance to talk to Hunter again.

~ ~ ~

I didn’t get a chance to talk to him until the end of the day. Every time I saw him, he was surrounded by a crowd of admirers, friends, or both. And even when I finally got him alone, he wouldn’t give me any attention until I whipped out the little orange bottle.

His sapphire eyes widened in surprise. A sliver of crazed hunger mixed with fear suddenly entered his bright blue eyes.

“Where did you find that? I’ve been looking for it for ages!” he exclaimed as he tried to snatch it out of my hands. He was unsuccessful and I held it out of reach, inwardly enjoying the power I had over him. His eyes burned into mine as they slowly turned into slits.

“Give it. NOW.”

“What’s my name?” (…wait, what? Why did I ask that? Maybe to see if he still remembered…)

“Magenta. Magenta Kimberly Thatcher, otherwise known as Maggie,” he said immediately, without any change in his voice or focused expression.

My heart leaped. He did remember! I felt like singing at the top of my lungs.

“But you’re a nobody so just give it back, or else.” His words stabbed straight to my brief happiness. Tears threatened to slip out, but I turned my sadness into anger instead. Red-hot, burning anger.

“You shouldn’t be talking DRUGGIE!” I spat, angrily. He recoiled and asked cautiously, “You knew?-”

“I have eyes, Peterson, and I have a brain. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

Hunter shook off his worry and straightened with confidence. He flashed me his famous smile and said smugly, “But who’ll believe little Maggie?”

“FYI Hunt, when something as big as drugs gets involved, it’ll spread like a wildfire.”

He glares at me for a minute. I never break my eyes away from him. And slowly, I see fear creep into the dark blue depths of his eyes and he finally breaks the stare then whirls around and punches the nearest wall. Scarlet bloom dribbles down his navy blue cardigan sleeve and leaks onto his perfect white shirt. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Watching him hurt himself broke my will to stay angry. I run to him and gingerly picked up his now blood drenched hand. Using my scarf, I tightly wrap his hand to stop the flow.

“Please,” he says in a broken voice, “give me the pills. I need them.”

For a second, I seriously considered giving them to him. But then I got an image of Terren’s face frozen in pain for all of eternity and I shake my head.

“You have money and friends, Hunt. You’re fine-”

“NO I’M NOT! Money? What’s the point if people knows that you’ll use it for drugs? And friends? What friends? These are my only friends, Maggie, always faithful, always there.”

I can’t believe my ears. Was Hunter really this…insecure? When his parents’ business skyrocketed, he seemed if anything to do better as he got more friends and more items. I still remembered the first day when he showed up in school dressed in designer clothes with his glittering ruby studded water bottle in one hand and and expensive backpack in the other. Was that smile fake? Was it all an act?- And it took him here, to the point of turning to drugs?-

My fury rose again, but not at him. At his ‘friends’, the tiny pills that killed Terren and could also maybe kill Hunter. My hand clenches around the bottle and I throw it as hard as I can on the concrete floor. It cracks in two and the evil pills scatter everywhere. But before they can escape into cracks, I stomp on all of them in an attempt to destroy their existence in Hunter’s life, Terren’s life, and life in general.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Hunter screams as he grabs my arm and shakes me violently.

A tear slips from my eye. An image of a dead Hunter lying sprawled on the ground, unresponsive, flashes in my mind.

“I’m saving your life,” I whisper.

“Why do you even care?”

“Because I don’t want you to die.” My voice cracks slightly. “Because I don’t want my ex-best friend from kindergarten gone.” A look of surprise crosses his face.

“Even though I ditched you?-”

I bite my lip hard and answer in a low voice, “No. Because I know that you are actually a good kid. Money doesn’t change the core of who you are, Hunt, and your core is good. I wanted to resurrect that and bring back the innocent kid who with the magnetic personality who made everyone smile. The kid who never failed to brighten someone’s day. We need more people like that, Hunter. We can’t risk losing them.” I step closer to him and stare straight into his eyes.

“Don’t let that-” I say slowly as I point to the shards of the bottle “destroy you. We NEED you Hunter.”

His face is blank for a while. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head, trying to make sense of my spiel. Then he looks down slowly at his bleeding hand wrapped in my white turned red scarf.

“…I don’t think you’ll be able to use this again, Mags,” he says in a neutral tone. He slowly unwraps it, then examines his wound.

“No dip, Sherlock. I wasn’t planning to.”

He looks up at me.

“Can I keep it?-”

“Uh…sure?” He bundles up my scarf and shoves it into his expensive backpack. Then he looks at the remains of the bottle and I panic. But instead of running to them, he spits on them angrily and says, “Screw you.” Well, I guess that’s the equivalence of him saying “I’m done with you forever.”

Then he looks at me.

And smiles. It’s the smile I haven’t been able to receive since sixth grade. The smile that was free and totally contagious. The smile that was 100% authentic Hunter Peterson.

He comes up and wraps me in his long arms. I never thought that I was allowed to be hugged by THE Hunter-I thought it was only for girls like Taylor or Veronica. Yet here I was. I hug him back, not in a lustful way, but in a I’m-glad-you’re-back way.

“Thank you, Mags.” He releases me and holds me by the shoulders. “You haven’t changed much from sixth grade, have you?-Still like Tchaikovsky?”

I laugh and punch his arm. “Duh.

~ ~ ~

Hunter never washed the scarf. It’s actually kind of gross, but he kept it blood stained as a reminder to never go back.

And he changed. Sure, he was still rich. But he became who he truly was-kind, loving, compassionate, and caring. The true Hunter, the Hunter before sixth grade.

We hang out more often, too. In fact, he hangs out with anyone nowadays. Lots of people were confused at why the high and mighty Hunter would suddenly speak to them, but they all loved this warmer, nicer Hunter better. And overtime someone would ask him “Why did you change?” he recites the story of the blood-stained scarf.



Thanks for sticking through the story! I guess this is now my longest post, eh?-

I do appreciate comments on my writing style or grammar or whatnot. So feel free to write a comment; all feedback is appreciated!

Merci beaucoup mes amis~ 🙂


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