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Author's note: This piece was inspired by other people's feelings about Life and Death. Many people have very positive outlooks on life. "YOLO"(You Only Live Once) is a term that refers to how people want to live there life. What I wanted to do was to acknowledge the negative outlooks of Life (No. I am not a pessimist). I thought it would be interesting for people to actually see that the world isn't as perfect as people see it as. So, I created a character, that twisted her mind, out of sanity's sigh, to make her... in a way, evil. It really is amazing how writing can pour your questions into something truly amazing.
That color ran through my veins. It once did. I remember. I loved it. That color. It was so beautiful.
It did. Once.
Red it was.
A brief overview of my life: In my life, I was considered an evil person. Perhaps I was. But, if I was-truly an evil person- it was for my obsession. My obsession with the color red. Until that color red became the color blue.
It’s funny, really. How evil can come out of something you hold dear-something you love with all your heart. And when I mean evil, I mean death.
Is death truly evil?
Is it really something that is considered a profound immorality? Or is it something we-no- you, foolish humans fear and consider immoral. Isn’t death the evidence that one has lived. The pain at the end of a your life is what proves that you have lived a life worth living. And the pain that you feel is really the true proof that you are living. At the end of my life, I did not feel any pain.
I wonder why...
My obsession with that color came when I was little. People would ask me “What do you want to be when you grow up?” and I would answer, with big eyes and my full heart, “RED”. It’s not that I didn’t understand the question-I did understand it-the meaning of a human’s existence. Humans exist merely because they have a purpose- a purpose in life. (Even if that purpose is death. Some people are existent-are alive- because they have a purpose in life to die. Those people impact the world with their death.) My purpose in life was red. All my actions, no matter how “evil” it was considered, was because of that beautiful color that is red.
Right before I started school my father died. He was fighting in some war. Sometimes at night, I used to think about him. How when I was little(r) he would tuck me in and tickle me. He smelled like the ocean (I’m never been to one, but I’ve always imagined what it would feel like), the salt and the kind soft breeze. But one day he disappeared and I always wondered how, but more importantly why. Did he not love me anymore? Did he hate me? I used to ask where ‘daddy’ was and my ‘mommy’ would answer that I wouldn’t need to know that. I only needed to know that my ‘daddy’ was serving his country and protecting us. I didn’t accept that- I never did. I would keep asking, but every time I would get the same answer, and eventually I stopped asking.
One day, we got a letter. I remember that day as clearly as I saw that color red. The sky was blue. So peaceful, and I hated it. The clouds were white and puffy, So perfect, and I hated it. The orange flowers that aligned the house were dancing. So lovely, and I hated it. The green grass was blowing in the summer breeze. So carefree, and I hated it. The yellow sun was shining brightly. So dazzling, and I hated it. Purple butterflies were dancing in the air. So happy, and I hated it.
My mother opened the letter that was really fancy, as I recall. (It had a wax seal and everything) The red seal was opened. And as my mother read the letter, I could see the pain that crossed her face. She dropped the letter, so I picked it up. There in the center I saw three bold letters: KIA. “Mommy, what does these letters mean?” She was on the floor buried between her hands. Something wet was on the floor. I knelt down. Tears poured down her cheeks. I could see it. I could see it. She was drowning. Drowning in her pain. Drowning in her tears. I caught one and it hurt. It was cold. (Actually it was warm, but I felt cold) Cold. It was the cold that held her pain- the proof that she is living. And then I knew something was wrong.
I decided to try again. “What does KIA stand for?” She looked up at me. And smiled. And said, sobbing, “You don’t need to know.” I didn’t accept that. And then, I got angry. I hated it. Not knowing things. Not knowing why there was pain on her face. I wanted to understand. I wanted to be exposed to the world, no matter how cruel it was, and how much pain it contained. Maybe that longing was what brought my hatred. Or was it the burning curiosity that lingered in my soul?
My face scrunched up and I asked again, louder, with more venom, “What does KIA stand for?” This time, as if sensing my anger, she replied with an actual answer. “It means ‘killed in action’. Your father is dead.” And it slammed into me. It hurt. Even now, I can feel the pain. No more warm hugs and loving kisses. “It’s okay. He’s in a better place now-somewhere far away, above the clouds, where there is no pain and no suffering. He’s in a paradise.” He died, I was sure. It did sound like a paradise. Death. A place with no pain. A paradise that I only read in my picture books. But I didn’t accept it. But even worse, I couldn’t accept the fact that something as beautiful and perfect, such is that red seal, could envelope such pain and despair. Is this what the world is? A place that is cruel, and holds that much pain? How could such a beautiful thing bear the news of a horrid death? I wished that I hadn’t wanted to be exposed to the world.
And then I hated that color red.
Once I started school, I hated many people. They didn’t hate me back. In fact they didn’t know me-they probably didn’t realize that I even existed. I was the girl in the shadows. Similarly, I didn’t know them at all, although I did acknowledge their existence. Those kids. I acknowledged them in my heart, with the hatred I felt for them. There was a good reason for my hatred, if I do say so, myself. They were always carefree. Laughing. They were always happy. They had fathers that were still alive, and they were always smiling, unaware of the horrors that the real world possessed-the despair that I witnessed. At that point in life, I still hated the color red. After all, it was only a month before the news. There is a saying that time heals what reason can’t. Perhaps it does. I was the girl in the shadows-shrouded in a red cloud of hatred. But in my case, my heart held wounds that were etched too deeply. And those wounds were not the wounds from the news of my father dying, but the realization that red could also be evil.
I sat at the corner of the playground. Alone. Watching.
Watching the other little children run around and laughing. I drank in their chirpy, cliche and frankly cruel (Ha! For me to say that!) happiness. With a black heart.
How can a child be so innocent, as not to see the horrors around them. The cruelty of the world that they live in. How is it that they can be happy while I am not, even when we live in the same wicked world?
I examined each and every happy faces with cautious eyes. One girl. One girl. That was all it took.
She had a plump pink rosy face. And her laughter was like frozen teardrops of ice, falling in delicate plings on the ice. She was running along the playground. And she fell. Right on the bumpy blacktop. She fell and scraped her knee.
And finally, someone cried. It was she. All those children around her ignored the wailing. (What cruelty!) She held her knee tightly as pearls of crystals fell onto the cold ground. Her knee turned red. And droplets of rubies fell onto the cold ground. Falling, and tainting, no purifying, the ground. And I thought, as I watched her cry, that is what you get for living in this world. No. For being born in this world. Her blood still continued to fall.
When I went home I replayed the scene in my head. The pain that she felt and the blood, were they linked together in some way? The blood is a symbol of the cleansing of pain. Cleaning the body of the impurities. Was that it? Showing pain. Revealing the brutality of the world? Evidence that living a life, carefree and blind, is worthless? Pain is the true essence of a human’s existence. To feel the pain of the world, would be to enjoy the little happiness that this world provides. To open your eyes and finally realize that the world is a cruel place to live. Was that it? To let the blood flow, and carry the pain and impurities out of your body, and finally cleanse yourself. To end your suffering and finally, truly live free, in death? Was that it? Was that it?
And then I decided that blood is a good thing. And blood is red. Is red good, or is it bad? No. It is good.
And then I loved that color red.
It will show everyone that the world will be bitter and harsh, and that will ease the greater pain of what is to come- the acknowledgment, and then finally the fear of death.
But, still I don’t understand. People say that they fear death. But isn’t death a good thing, finally being free of living?
Mortals (I’m not a mortal. Not anymore at least) are odd. Really.
This is the truth: Living is the punishment of the crime of being born.
A few years later (when I was alive)…
August 17, 1987
I think my love for red is odd. It’s scaring me. I don’t understand. I have a craving feeling inside me. My heart aches. Not for red. Well, in a way. I crave for something that I feel is horrible. I crave something that is immoral. I don’t know. I am lost. Am I evil? I feel a thirst inside me. I fear. I fear that I am not who I used to be.
I killed someone.
She was in so much pain.
I killed her. To end her pain. Her pain that was her life.
I killed her.
And that was it.
I ended her life in one blow. And her future left her. In one blow.
That was all it took to spill the red blood.
It flowed out in a river. A brilliant red that cleansed her pain.
I think I will cry tonight.
I fear. I fear that I am not who I used to be.
* * *
November 15, 1991
I read my other diary entries today. Such impudence! All that sappy hopeless words of confusion and fear. Fear. I don’t fear the world. I don’t fear of what I become. I will always be me, no matter what I “become”. I am me. And I most certainly do not fear myself. Who cares if one measly soul has perished. Who cares if the world itself has died. I will be there. I will be there, alive. I won’t be the weakling. I will live.
Who cares if the sky crumbles. Who cares if the Earth’s foundation flees? Fear will still be there. It will be there until the very end. And what use is it to fear fear? Fear is something that I will cherish. I will drink in the pain and the darkness I feel. I will hold it within me. For it will be the living proof that I am still alive. It will be the only thing that will comfort me. Fear, itself, will comfort me from fear, itself.
Someday I’ll be in for it. Well, you can’t blame me. I “changed”. People say that you can’t really change, right? Well I’ll be that one exception. I “changed”. Can someone really be who they were a few years ago? I’m not just talking about a different favorite book, or different tastes. I’m talking about change. From good to…let’s say- evil. Darkness. Everything must coexist with other things. I can say that everything in this world is in harmony. The day and the night. The light and the dark. The sun and the moon. So, why can’t we say that evil must be with good. What would the meaning of ‘good’ be, if there was no evil? What would the reason be to fear Death if there was no Life? Everything must coexist with each other. Just like I must coexist, quietly, with the rest of the cruel world.
Let me explain my demented (I’ll admit) reasoning:
There are many theories of Death. (Not many theories of Life. Don’t you find that odd?) Death is often depicted as a wonderous place, in which there will be no pain. No suffering. And why, I often wonder, would people want to live in a world with suffering, with pain, known as Life, than a place, in which there is no pain? Why? The world, itself, is not an existence of logic.
And really. I am just helping the world. I am helping those suffering, hopeless souls. I help them, really, I do.
I bring them to a paradise. And all they do to thank me, is to resist me- deny me. Deny me, in the face of the truth. They, for some unknown reason, hate me. Hate me? For relieving them of their unknown and potential pain?
So, I turned this way. Changed, if you must. I kill. And I’m sorry for those of you, who really want to live Life to the fullest. I am sincerely sorry. But, I know. that you will thank me when you arrive in Heaven.
Blood is often a symbol, in my twisted understanding, of cleansing one’s soul. The blood spills out, carrying, along with it, the impurities and sins of portions of your soul. I like to think of myself, as not killing, but cleansing and helping. Oh my. That does sound twisted and evil! Ha! But what good will it do to explain my genius thinking to a worthless,not to mention alive, mortal like you, reader?
“ A heart is a heavy burden.” It will, in the end, always fail you. Give up on you. The feelings of pain, hatred, suffering will always be there. In the heart. The heart is the true traitor, in Life. What gives you and keeps you alive in Life, is your heart. What ends your Life is your heart. That traitor. It will weigh you down, to the pits of Hell, and you won’t even know it. In the end, you will always die. It’s something inevitable, and in a way it’s a curse and a blessing. And there Death will wait, patiently until the very end. He did for me, anyway.
May 21, 1993
Apparently the government is “on” to me. Trying to catch me…
Why? Hmm… good question. I don’t know.
I’ve done nothing wrong. In fact, I’ve helped many people transition from Life to Death! What’s so bad about that? Either way, I’ve become ‘Wanted’. Well, whatever it is they want me for, I am not going. They’ll have to catch me. Catch me. If you can.
Wow. I just realized something. Just now. At this point in my Life story (or should I say Death story), I’ve realized I’ve never told you, readers about me in the Real World, aka Cruel World. I never, in detail, ever described me in the “outside” Well, you’re in for a treat. This part of my Life was most certainly interesting.
The sirens were whistling. Slow and Fast. Loud and Soft. I ran. The traitor pounded at the door at my chest. Boom, it went. The traitor pounded at the door to get out- for freedom. I resisted it. Held tight to my sanity (what’s left of it anyway). I was not to give up myself and my odd pride to the people known as the police, aka. the guards of Life and justice.
The people were shouting so loudly, it pained me. I ran. For no reason at all. I ran away from… Death? Me?
The police had guns in their hands. I usually used knives, but I knew the dangers that the black weapon held. I was scared. My heart. What an odd thing I possessed. Those guns would bring the end of my Life and would plum,et me towards Death. What was I so afraid of? All of my life, I had ended the lives of many people. So, why was I so scared? Though the board has turned, the game is still the same. Why? Why does my own heart deceive me in this way?
I ran, with the traitor smiting, now, against the door. I ran. I ran.
I had reached a dead end. The game was now over. The police surrounded me. I stared back with calm black eyes. Inside I was quivering with fear-or something else… The police raised their arms, holding the gun. “Put your hands up.” They had said.
“No.” I had said, calm and so egotistically. One more time they asked that question, arms shaking. Again, I answered “No.” A shot was heard, somewhere. And that was that.
The game was now over. The queen has fallen. Game over, I said.
That last thing I heard was my heart- the traitor bursting the door open, finally free of my burdens and pain.
Then I felt it. The blood. It trickled out slowly from the wound, where I was shot. I felt, finally the pain. The pain of Life...or was it the pain of Death?
I thought ‘So. This is what Red feels like.’
I looked at the sky. I hadn’t done that in a while. Red. No. It was blue. A wonderful blue. Then I realized something I hadn’t in all of my Life until that moment. Blue. That was also blood. Blue blood, it runs through my veins. It coexisted with my red blood. Like the day coexists with the night, the dark and the light, the sun and the moon, the blue with the red. My blood was blue. And as I died silently. I yearned to have seen the rest of the world. I don’t think anyone, but me knew it, but I cried. My blood was blue, when it wasn’t spilled. I cried, as I thought of my Life. And of Death. I cried silently. Into my soul. Drowning in my tears.
And before the cruel world, finally, faded (just like I wanted, once upon a time. I guess dreams do come true), I yearned to see more of that blue sky. More of that blue. I died silently and without a struggle. Death took me in his arms and guided me. Before everything went black. I wondered, weeping, “What does Blue feel like?”
Well, that wasn’t the happiest ending. But I am still here. I will wait forever, if I need to. You, readers, will always find me at the end. Hmm… I guess you guys have probably wondered what happened to me after my death. Was I punished for eternity? Doomed to spend my end in Tatarus?
Death I met at my end. He was tired and weary of centuries of his job. I felt sympathetic. He said that he observed me throughout his job, and that he has waited for me to die. (I felt honored.) And now, I will wait for centuries, as well, for someone to replace me. In the meantime, I will look at the blue sky. And think about my Life, and my regrets(?).
Readers, at the end, I will be there. Waiting. In the blue sky.