Red

A Story by Rylan_l

brief journal prompt

I am wearing red.

From head to toe, the color red covers every part of me; only little slivers of skin dare to peek out from under the red. The more I think of it, everyone’s wearing red; covered in it like we are a brigade of cardinals. Everything, really, is red. The once soft, lime green grass, the bark of the trees, the river, even the moon is red, as though the whole world had been the canvas of some red splatter paint artwork.

I feel it on me. It’s warm and thick, it pools and drips, dries, caking into my fingernails. My eye twitches as it trickles down over my eyelid. The air is rich with the smell of iron and death. I am watching as everyone stands paralyzed. They, too, have red dripping and pooling in the curvatures of their body. So do the dead. Though they, strewn across the field like the leaves of autumn, escape some of the red as it cascades from their body to poison the field.

I choke and gag a little as some runs into my mouth, less because there is a lot but more because I know it is not my own blood that I taste. In fact, I’d have to guess the most of this red cloak I wear is not woven from my own life force.

I finally find my ability to move again, as the numbness that came with utter terror and shock subsides. I notice the man not too far from my feet convulsing, writhing. I would help, but the way his organs are splayed across his chest like badges of honor, I know there is no use.

The supposed sanctity of these deaths hits me all at once and I drop to my knees. No matter how many showers I take, how many years I walk away. My hands will be stained.