The Color Of Blood

Prologue

In my dreams, I would be sinking. Sinking into darkness, into the cold unknown. I would be staring blankly at the invisible bottom, not quite sure of what to feel. In fact, I wouldn't be feeling at all. All I'd know is I was sinking. Drowning in fear, but never feeling it in my chest, an empty, dark hole that can't be fulfilled. Instead, it'd be all around me, like it had filtrated through my skin and now wanted to choke me. Pull me down, like a dark blue monster. But I never arrived to the bottom. The monster never had a chance of snatching the life off me. The ocean of fear was, after all, avertible. 

Then I'd wake up, and the underwater noises would be replaced by hospital beeps, and I would be drowning, but in a set of too clean white sheets, the feelings returning all at once. My body would again possess all of the dreadful fear around it, and it would be like I had swallowed the ocean whole. My aunt Jenna would be sitting next to the bed every morning, since at that time it would always be my turn of being watched by her. I would often fake sleep, as I did not want to talk, or listen to her complaints about how much lost time me and my brother meant; nobody was making her stay with us, after all. After a few minutes, she would leave, and I would finally open my eyes, feeling dull all of a sudden. 

Staring at the ceiling, the world seemed much simpler, and for a moment, it would feel like my parents hadn't just died. Like they hadn't just swapped their lives for ours, given us a chance to live. In pain, but live. In that moment, I'd avoid blinking, careful not to break the spell the white ceiling had me under. It would become blurry to my eyes, but eventually, I would give in and shut them, warm tears escaping through my cheeks, and into the cold pillow. Outside, Boston would soundly wake up, more and more cars speeding up the road by the second. They would honk, they would slip, they would crash, and they would skip. A sequence just like that, is what would end my mother and father's life, and mine as well, in a way.