It rules the night sky, it hides and plots when the red fingers of dawn rise above the horizon, vying for a position in the world above. Crimson at night, Crimson at morn, there is no respite from the color of blood, save the hours of day.
And they are not enough. I spend my time watching, always watching, for the return of the red orb that haunts me always. As I stare at it tonight, the night I will, the night I must decide, it is no longer a curse, but a companion. A friend when no others comfort, a consular when no others give advice.
When I first decided to listen to its advice, advice I then thought unkind commands, I had regrets. I wept, I hid, and I cursed it and its help in my ignorance, in my folly. But now… Now, I realize the errors of my way. I realize how wrong, how terribly, terribly wrong I have been. And I weep. I weep, for I did not listen sooner. I weep, for I did not escape this world at an earlier time, but refused to accept the truth in my foolishness.
And so now I make amends, now I give myself to the beacon of light in the black void above me, the crimson salvation I love and trust. There are footsteps behind me, the sound of heavy breathing, the marching of boots, the swaying of the tall grass in this peaceful, tranquil field. In my hands is the way to eternal peace, and lo and behold; It is crimson as well!
The first time I accepted the beacon of crimson, this enabler of tranquility was with me, in my hands as it is now. But it was not the color. It was not red. They didn’t understand, they begged me to stop, they tried to convince me that I was the one who didn’t have knowledge, that I was without wisdom. But I believed in the beacon, I believed in the one that is crimson, and I still believe, I believe more than ever.
Grasping my aide, my helper and the servant of the beacon above, I realize that the color of my savior is no longer only on my helper. It covers my arms, splatters of it are located on my face. It is a badge of my salvation, and a badge I will wear proudly. With a final cry of euphoria, born from the beacon above, I plunge the aide into my heartlight, and the beacon covers me, carrying me skyward, now part of it as well. I join the Red Star above, and find eternal serenity.
The Guard found him sprawled among the tall grass, a knife plunged through his shattered heartlight, blood stained almost every inch of his body, as crimson as the Red Star above, twinkling steadily in the shadowy void. His face was frozen in a smile of pure ecstasy, his glazed eyes staring upwards. His hands, stained crimson from his own blood, were frozen, his fingers curled in the grass, a sign of final struggle.
The night sky, black and sparkling white, was stained with a streak of red, as was the field below. But they both ignored these dots, they both forgot how they were tarnished with crimson, the color of blood.
Edited by Lord Darkon, Oct 06 2012 - 09:08 PM.