The Color Red

October 7th, 2017 - The day I remembered what red actually represented, the day I realized I was very capable of things I never thought I could do. The day I helped cover up Tommy's murder.

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….. My heart bled at the thought of letting my actual thoughts come out of my mouth. Letting them flow freely, letting the words I say to myself in my head be heard by others. My actual opinions on people being let free. Actually call the ones I called my friends, but would rather not be associated with, out on their s**t.

My body screamed agreeing with my mind that it was not the tight thing to do. I lived with and was surrounded by a world of hypocrisy and narcissism. I was told I was wrong by people who believed that they could make decisions for on the behalf of others when they couldn’t make a decision on the behalf of themselves. 

My entire world was not a dark narrow path but the way my mind was being shaped was. I missed seeing the world in the bright yellows, light blues, bright blood red’s and beautiful natural greens.

I missed loving the color red. If only it gave me the same amount of joy it did as a child.

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There was something excruciating about it. Life. When I heard or read the quote dying is easy, living is harder, I immediately agreed. I didn’t know whether it was sad or not. I still don’t. 

October 4, 2017. The day I remembered my love for the color red. October 4, 2000, the year I was born. At 17 years of age and the biggest problem I was being faced with wasn’t what university I was going to but covering up the murder of a friend properly. I’m not really surprised Adam went mad and killed Tommy but then there was a part of me that felt guilty. Not guilty enough to confess but guilty enough to be haunted by it.

Guilty. Every time I hear that word I hear Captain Barnes from Gotham yelling while wearing a straight-jacket. I’d be put in a straight jacket if anyone found out about how flawed my moral compass actually was. There’s a higher chance I’d be in prison but this was not the time to be thinking of that.  

I lived an interesting life. Full of secrets that would turn into scandals that could shake so many worlds, destroy so many lives and forge entirely new people. Yet, of all the sins I’ve committed, crimes against god as my grandfather said to me when I was thirteen. ‘You have committed so many sins in your life, YOU HAVE COMMITTED CRIMES AGAINST GOD!’ He yelled that at me and I didn’t even sin properly yet.

Month and a half later I got drunk by the river on St. Paul’s Dr. It was fun, then made up with a strange girl who is now the queen of Quinnton-Cheffords high. Just one of the many scandals that could never get out, for her at least. I on the other hand, was notorious for breaking hearts, breaking laws and sometimes breaking noses. 

Now, I had blood on my hands. Metaphorical blood of course, I’ve had actual blood on my hands. My blood, other people’s blood, but this time it was the type of blood I couldn’t wash away with some soap and water. This time it was cold hearted murder. 

Something I never actually believed I was actually capable of.