The Color of Blood
Alone
Red. It's more than a color to me. It's an emotion. A passion. A desire. A HATRED. It's the color of the flames I barely escaped as a child. It's the color of the Camaro my ex-girlfried took when she left. But most importantly... It's the color of blood.
That's what I focus on as pain explodes in my wrist. It pools at my feet. Splashes onto my shoes. I smile. What a brilliant color...
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I didn't always used to cut myself. At least not on purpose. But between my abusive father, dead mother, and my little brother Lance... I'm tired of life. Lance, by the way, is the sole reason my mother, and little sister,-Jenna-are dead. I hate him. It's no wonder I want to kill him every time I see him. I try to... He never fights back. I think he wants to die as much as I do. I'd be happy to make that happen. To bad every time I come close, the cops show up, and rush him to the emergency room. He must lie about what happened, because I've only been arrested twice... For something completely unrelated... I would have never been caught if the witness hadn't remembered my snow white hair. It tends to stand out in a crowd. To bad it wont hold hair die. Otherwise, I'd be in the clear... Oh well. Prison isn't that bad. At lease I don't have to see Lance there...
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My mind drifted back to the present. How long have I been on the floor? I shook my head. There was still a wild smile on my face. What was it about pain that I was so attracted to? I wasn't sure. All I knew was that my body was aching all over. And I was enjoying every second of it.
I stood up, and reluctantly stopped the bleeding. I have one thing to do before I die. I changed into some clean clothes. and walked out of my apartment, in search of a sixteen year old boy with blonde hair, and hazel, grief-stricken eyes...
Red. It's more than a color to me. It's an emotion. A passion. And it's the color of blood.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That's what I focus on as pain explodes in my wrist. It pools at my feet. Splashes onto my shoes. I smile. What a brilliant color...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I didn't always used to cut myself. At least not on purpose. But between my abusive father, dead mother, and my little brother Lance... I'm tired of life. Lance, by the way, is the sole reason my mother, and little sister,-Jenna-are dead. I hate him. It's no wonder I want to kill him every time I see him. I try to... He never fights back. I think he wants to die as much as I do. I'd be happy to make that happen. To bad every time I come close, the cops show up, and rush him to the emergency room. He must lie about what happened, because I've only been arrested twice... For something completely unrelated... I would have never been caught if the witness hadn't remembered my snow white hair. It tends to stand out in a crowd. To bad it wont hold hair die. Otherwise, I'd be in the clear... Oh well. Prison isn't that bad. At lease I don't have to see Lance there...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My mind drifted back to the present. How long have I been on the floor? I shook my head. There was still a wild smile on my face. What was it about pain that I was so attracted to? I wasn't sure. All I knew was that my body was aching all over. And I was enjoying every second of it.
I stood up, and reluctantly stopped the bleeding. I have one thing to do before I die. I changed into some clean clothes. and walked out of my apartment, in search of a sixteen year old boy with blonde hair, and hazel, grief-stricken eyes...
Red. It's more than a color to me. It's an emotion. A passion. And it's the color of blood.
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