Euthanasia (Kellic)

14: The Possibility

And Baby You'll Be Alright As Long As I'm Not, So Do That Dance In The Dark, Sharpen Your Teeth And Bite As Hard As You Want.

I hate the fact that other things are red. It doesn't feel right, it feels wrong, it feels like a lie. They're painted red - they never could be born that way. Things don't form like that; things are made to be perfect and by doing so they miss the concept of perfection entirely... they miss it by a mile off. The things that aren't meant to be perfect are the ones who always end up being so. Life works in funny ways as it paints the world red.

Even the colour red makes me want to tear my skin apart frantically like some sort of savage monster, which I supposed I could be compared to, but only by someone particularly sadistic. Sadism is natural, though.

Sadism is within all of us and no one can argue against that, even those people who think their degrees and graduation caps entitle them to claiming they have knowledge over the entire world. Sadism is within them especially, but the colour red isn't, and for the latter I'm glad. Red is a part of me; I'm selfish, but red is too.

I hate the fact that the chairs are red, and there are red marker pens, and that things are marked in red biro, I hate the fact that his tie is red, and that her shoes are red, that his shirt is red and that her hair is red. 

I hate how they can think red doesn't matter when it's the only thing that does. Red always matters, red is who I am. Red is all I'll ever be. I grew up wanting to be red, and I'll die red. I'll die red, alone and soon.

I hate the fact that accidents also bleed red, and that red is the colour of love hearts. I hate that red is on Valentine's Day cards, and I hate that people believe in 'I love you's. Red is accidental, red isn't a lie. I hate stupid people, and I hate pretentious ones too. I hate hypocrites, also. And confessionists - I hate them too, especially indirect ones, now they're just pussies. 

And most of all, the people that believe hate is far too much of a strong word to be used in this circumstance, don't understand the colour red. Red is so much more than a colour, though. And no one understands - this hurts more than the red. I'm used to the red; it barely stings. It does sting a little, but it's an addiction. I need it.

It's a selfish addiction, as addictions tend to be. I'm selfish, as people tend to be.

Red is not the colour of strawberries, or love hearts, or rose, red is the colour of my blood when my friends come out to play, and the red is everything to succumb to, everything to crave, and everything to hate and love.

I make things red; things shouldn't already come that way. Red isn't artifical, red is natural, red is human, red is raw, red is the creature that lurks inside... inside us all. Some people just block the red out easier; I'm not one of them. I welcome the red, in fact. But, it's okay - the red welcomes me too.

Red is my colour, red is a part of me, and further than just the blood in my veins. It's down my arms, it's all I am, and it's everywhere. I smell it, I feel it, and I need it.

I think red, I breathe red, I bleed red, I cry red, I paint red, I slash red, I am red.

Red is a beautifully destructive colour - one that fits me perfectly, and none understands, because red is who I am and all I'll ever be.

Vic Fuentes hasn't got anything on red.

-

"Kellin-" I jerked out my daydream about painting the sky with my colour of choice, only to find myself eye to eye with the English teacher and his painfully red tie. "Awake are we, finally?" I blushed red; I'd seemed to have recently developed a rather unfortunate habit of dozing off during class, and I could do nothing but blame this upon Vic Fuentes, despite the fact he'd end up getting me out of whatever punishment befell me this time.