To all the colors of the rainbow

Red

RED LIKE A ROSE

Any person with a rudimentary understanding of physics knows that the less intense visible light is red. Red like a rose. The rose that was in the dream that I once had about all the colors of the rainbow. The one that had begun making itself out in front of me.

Then, I knew that my eyes were finally adjusting to the dark. And I could see the one that came after. The less colorful color.

But roses are more than red. Sadly though, for now it was all I could see. The things that make any flower recognizable – its petals.

As I stepped closer, I could see them more clearly. So delicate, they looked. So pretty. So I did what everyone does when they see something pretty. I picket at it.

But roses have thorns. Thorns aren't red and I couldn't see them. It didn't even occur to me until I pricked my finger on them. And blood – my red blood – started dripping down my fingers. As the drops hit the floor, more roses appeared. These petals now had changed color to that of the thing that formed them.

I should've covered the wound. Keep the blood from falling. But I couldn't. I shouldn't have headed to the newly formed rosebush. I shouldn't have wrapped my arms around it and hogged it to my chest. But I couldn't stop. My brain wanted to, but my body wouldn't let me.

This time, when I looked down, it wasn't black I saw. It was red, liquid red. When I touched something, it wasn't nothing I felt. It was pain. So much pain, and I couldn't bring myself to walk away from it. Instead, I decided to embrace it.

Blood pouring down from my invisible self created more and more roses, which brought a never-ending pain.

I fell to the ground. The only thing telling me that I wasn't floating was the splash I heard when my body hit the bloody petals. By then, I was numb to it all. The cuts didn't hurt anymore. And I didn't think there was any blood left to leave my body.