Was My Soul Left Behind (And Has It Come Back)

TW for suicidal Dazai and some really emotionally intense stuff (in the second half).

(The end notes will have some clarifications and fun research stuff, in case y'all are interested after reading :D they'll be at the end after I gush for a bit)

***

Once upon a time, long long ago, a child of red cries

In a gilded crib, drip cerulean tears from stormy eyes

God of Calamity, born of a curse where the babe lies

Cataclysmic soul, behold, crimson mortality dies

Over the mountains, in the fields, a poor man feeds his son

Careless in sharing, blue beyond caring, his boy undone

Cursed fruit from red West, hunger sated, what is done is done

Child of blue, longer life now stolen, suffering begun

Accursed feet traverse living soil, red and blue fleeing

Time escapes grasp, souls in agony, life lost of meaning

Forgotten in immortal torment, purple wondering

What it must be to live the life of a human being

___

Red and blue mix to make purple. Purple brightens then darkens, lightens then fades. Purple bleeds to white.

___

Chuuya wasn't having a good day. Not only had he spilled his favorite wine, but it was a rare 1796 vintage he had been saving for centuries. So no, Chuuya wasn't having a good day, and he certainly didn't want to fucking try a pina collada sample, thank you very much.

"But, sir, it's the newest fruity alcoholic beverage in our new line of drinks."

On second thought, Chuuya could really use some alcohol right now.

He downs a sample, then a second for good measure, and marches back down the wines and spirits section, pointedly ignoring the sampling lady's baffled expression. The drink was decent, definitely fruity as marketed, but far from something he'd actually buy. His tastes were far more refined. Chuuya much preferred wizened wines and just couldn't understand how some idiots deliberately chose to sully perfectly good alcohol with fruit, idiots like that fucker—

No, he can't think about this. Not today. His vision was already tinged red enough as is.

The alcohol did help though, little as it was. He continued down the aisle, pausing when he caught sight of an enticing vintage or a familiar label, but none were nearly as precious as the 1796 Lenox Madeira bottle he had spilled. However, realizing that it was probably a shitty idea to look for any worthwhile wines at a supermarket of all places, he eventually gave up. Chuuya made to leave, silently stewing in his rage as he crossed the store, so he didn't notice when someone crossed into his path.

Chuuya crashes into the person, and he feels the red in his vision surge.

Fucking great.

"Can you not see where you're going, asshole?!" He shouts at the person, red vision flaring. "Is it so fucking hard to—" Blue eyes meet brown, and the words die in his throat. A rush of cold washes over him, shocking the red away.