Red was the color of the handprint on my cheek. It was the color of his face as he shoved me against a wall, red tainted his words and it was the shade of his breath. It was the color that ignited his flames to burn down my own. It was the shades of my arms.
Red was the feeling I felt towards him and the attempt to slap him back. It was the motion of which he caught my hand and slapped me again.
Red was the grand opening to something I've never experienced before and that I would never want to in my life again.
Red was the color of my broken heart and troubled tears when I tried leaving him. It was the call to my parents and begging them to help me help him. It was the feeling of weakness I felt watching him being taken away. It was the color of the police lights that took him.
Red was the color of my blood that drained my whole body and the feeling of my knees suddenly giving out.
Red was the last color I saw before I blacked out.
