Untitled for now

Red is a lovely colour. It's the colour of your favourite lipstick and it's the colour of the roses that grow outside your house. It is also the colour of the blood spilling from my arms, staining my white button up shirt. I can see your face in my fuzzy head as my mind plays out the life I haven't lived, the words I was never strong enough to say, the people I was never brave enough to meet. It's funny how when looking back on your life you finally see how boring you were. How little you actually did. Yes I have painted pictures, and yes I have walked miles to find a picturesque spot to read my books, but I still didn't step out of my comfort zone. I just sat, perched on the edge of it admiring how successful and free everyone else was, it's tragic when you think about it. I'm like a poorly written character in a book that was never published, with so many plot holes that it's almost falling apart.

It's like my writer has skipped the chapters where I explored the world and lived my life, instead substituting them for unfinished chapters about how my body was abused; and my soul tormented by the ghosts that follow me. It took a lot of thing to get me here though, a 20 something year old sitting on his kitchen floor, blood pooling around his wrists. It started with how my brain was wired.

I was a very odd child, I always liked order and consistency, I never liked changing anything about my life. I kept 2 friends, Marty and Bee, they were very good at understanding how I felt, which was quite nice. I'm still friends with them now, well I was friends with them. Considering I'm dead I can't really still be friends with them, anyway I'm getting off topic. We looked after each other through junior school, making sure we stuck together and kept each other positive.

When we got to High school we started to part slightly, Marty got into sports and became the school's top lacrosse player, Bee went into woodwork where she made the most beautiful sculptures and creations, I however stayed very consistent. I went on to take astronomy so I could learn about the stars, one of the only interests I actually had. Stars are very interesting, they are large balls of fiery gas that by the time that there light has reached the earth they probably no longer exist. I could probably turn that into a metaphor but to be honest I'm too tired to.

I'm stuck with what key facts from my life I should elaborate on, there are quite a few that may be important, but I'm not sure which ones really are. I think I'll start from graduation. I left with A*'s in all subjects, went to the prom with Bee and Marty (we had become close again after Bee lost her mother and Marty was diagnosed with Carpal Tunnel Syndrome from playing Lacrosse) where we danced to awful 90' s music and yet after I  still managed to become more and more of a shut in. "I will jump on you if you do not get out of your gross bed, YOU HAVE BEEN IN IT FOR DAYS," Bee partially shouted at me, her voice too small to actually be intimidating.

I heard the creak of my bed indicating she was about to jump on me, when instead I felt her lift the covers slightly and slide under, moving my hands from my sides to instead be wrapped around her waist. "You said my bed was gross."
"I've said a lot of things Archie, I also haven't said a lot of things to," Bee breathed out, her hands holding onto mine. "I never asked, what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
"I missed you, and your mother was worried about you so she asked me to look after you for a little while,"
"Ah, I see. Well if you are going to be here for a while, would you like to watch TV or would you like me to read you part of the book I'm reading?"
"What's the book about?"
"Well, there is this a man called Jonathan who likes to paint but can never find the right muse until me finds Sam, a flower shop owner who falls in love with John's art-" Bee stopped me mid sentence.
"This book interests me, I say read me some," she beamed up at me from the little home I feel he had made by my chest, my heart so close to her. I leaned over her slightly, reaching for the book and continuing from the page I felt off.
"His deep blue orbs focused on nothing, as my hand moved effortlessly across the canvas, making my love slowly appear on its plain white surface." I continued reading to Bee until there was no light coming through my net curtains anymore.

"John and Sam are really cute together, what is the name of the book again?"
"The blooming of the canvas," I breathed out sleepily. I was very tired after reading the 200 pages that I did, but it was nice reading them to Bee. Bee is a very important person to me, we never dated, but we also never dated anyone really. It was always just kind of us together, we enjoyed each others company. She had told me she was here partly because my mother was worried about me, but I didn't believe it. Her being there was nice though.