Crimson Regret

I'm standing here in a room smeared with crimson regret. What have I done?

I look down at my hands, they are drowning in the red sticky liquid. It runs down my arms at an alarming pace. "You need help," whispered my mind. But I know that if I ask for help, they will be angry. "I'll have to do this alone..." my thoughts trail,"... like I always do".

"Alone", the word tastes bitter in my mouth.

I decide to get to work and start cleaning. I open up the bathroom tap and grab an old face cloth. Very slowly I clean up the thick burgundy fluid. After what felt like hours of cleaning I finally cleaned the scarlet mess.

"I am never opening a jar of red hair dye again."