That was the only time I felt that someone cared. I felt comfortable, safe, and I was not scared anymore. So when my heart started functioning again, I reflected the purple, pink, and blue hues of my youth. Then I had the courage to open my eyes and finally thank the person who rescued me from this insanity. But it was my lost, for someone was no longer in sight. To my amazement, I was only hugging an empty space between my arms.
A tear fell.
Body moved.
Tiny steps danced.
A river of blood was everywhere.
*** ***
Eyes.
Brown. Blue. Black. Gray. Hazel.
Eyes shut close, rusting nails pounding. Blood flows.
Cheeks were warm and I saw the beauty as before but redder than the rose.
*** ***
Fingers. Nails.
Screeching sounds.
Blood.
Fingers. Nails, no more.
I learned to love the color red. I started using blood for my writing. The redundant memories faded away. They were no longer bothering me. The fearful end of my every step was towards the redundant memories. The haunting of the past did no longer exist. Without nails on the tip of my fingers, the opening of the wound always gave me fresh blood to fill my pen.
I even tried to become one of those popular dead people that the human race praised all their lives. I tried to be poetic in some sense. This was the time I really believed that my sanity went elsewhere. Poets made their lives known through their words, maybe this time I could make mine alive through my words.
Wicked lives,
Broken lines.
Dreamers dream,
But failure reigns.
Stolen majesty, stolen reality.
I did everything the same way as I did before. Was this really my fate?
Beautiful words indeed but none mean anything to me. Dreams were not dreams. They were the real thing. Your reality maybe was the one that was not real.
Those hues were my passport to my memories. They were my only companion.
I was inside a box. I assumed it was a box. Maybe it was a room, a well, a can, or anything. There was no light, no wind that I could feel. I tried to touch my toes, to feel my body, but there was nothing. I tried to reach for the walls, yet there was none. Still, quite amused, I could not feel my body moving. I was thinking of actions and knew I was doing it but there was none of this consciousness. Then I knew I was wrong. This place was never a box. These hues were never scattered. This place was never a dream. I was part of your story. I was you all along. Why do you keep on forgetting about me?
You were near me every day, every hour, every minute, and every second. You always needed the mirror so that you would see me. You could never live without me. The eyes, the ears, the nose, the lips, I now had a face. But the truth was never that easy to understand, right? Darling, I would never be seen by your naked eyes. I ran through your veins. I showed myself in every wound. I never had a friendly name. That was before, now, I was named
RED.
Yakapin 