Red

There were five children.

They were all unique children, with different tastes and thoughts. Opinions and feelings.

But they all had at least one thing in common.

Their arms all ran red.

The first child was a young man, sixteen or seventeen. He did it to feel.

His world had become numb, a dull ache, and he had a deep, deep thirst for sensation...

He would use a kitchen knife.

The blood would well to the surface of his skin, the inside of his forearm a trickling crimson river... The cuts were smooth and sure, no hesitation. Straight- there were no jagged edges.

What did he feel?

The second child was only seven. She did it to test.

She had a mother. Her mother was never there. Did she even notice her?

She would use a paperclip.

The cuts were raw and painful and thin. It took a lot of force for the paperclip to scrape through her soft skin. The cuts were ragged and raised, and the blood did not flow. It smeared.

What did her tests conclude?

The third child was a girl in her fifteenth year of life. She did it to remember.

She had a perfect life. This perfect life hadn’t always been. She couldn’t let herself forget.

She would use a razor.

The thin, fine edge sliced through her wrists with ease. The crimson in her veins would well up quickly and pool around the gash. The sting would stay and stay...

What did she remember?

The fourth child was twelve. He did it for punishment.

He did it himself. He was not forced- he wanted appeasement for the things he’d done.

He would use a shard of broken glass.

The slashes were wild and jagged. They were made with no precision. They were made to hurt. His blood would gush and drench. This was what he wanted.

What did the punishments correct?

The fifth child was eighteen. He did it to empathize.

His life was not terrible. He knew people whose lives were. He felt guilty for this.

He would use a pocket knife.

There was no blood with the first attempts... This changed. The more it happened, the quicker and more sure the cuts became. They were randomly- precisely- placed. His blood soon poured....

What did his empathy do?

The answer to all of these questions: Nothing.