RED

Red.

It's such an...interesting colour. There are two ways of interpreting it, two personalities to unfold, two ends of the spectrum.

Red can show passion, love, playfulness. Red can make anything stand out from a dull crowd.

But red...red can also show other things. Death, anger, frustration, distraction..."negative" things.

I like red...love red...I love red very much. I want to see red everywhere. I wan to see it on my walls, my floors, my furniture, my home, my curtains, my bed sheets, my clothes, my skin...all red.

Unfortunately, there is not much that is red that stains very well. London post boxes don't stain of course, strawberries come out after one wash, paint makes fabric solid and brittle sheets that form cracks and ruptures. Not much stains red very well. That is...there is one substance that stains...it stains very well...yes...

I told him to hold still. I told him to be quiet. I told him it would be over soon. "JUST HOLD STILL!", I shout, "I NEED YOUR RED!"

He did go quiet. I made him go quiet. I need his red. He couldn't have just given it to me. I had to take it. This was my favourite part though. I can have my red. My red. mine.

My blade slithers down his chest, forming a cavern behind it as it moves. There it is. There is my red. But filthy organs are in the way! Out, out, OUT! My red. MINE!

Better.

Just a bowl made of skin and bone...my bowl of red. I rub my hands together. I love red. I want red on my skin. This red stains well. I couldn't take it anymore. My hands plunge onto the bowl. Red, red on my skin. Warm. This red is very warm...nice.

I snap my hands back for a look. Red, red on my hands. I try to rub it off. Still there. It stains well.

I like red...love red...I love red very much. My red. Mine.

I want more.