Sanders Sides One-shots

Definition of Red (no ship)

Ship: No ship. 

TW: Self harm (nothing too graphic though)

I was originally gonna write this prompt as an idea for a writing competition, but I gave up on it because even though I love writing, I absolutely despise competitions. Actually, no, not really. If you wanna know more, I'm gonna rant about it at the bottom.

This was written for ChickitaGurl. She feeds off angst because she's sleep deprived and loves her goddamn angst, haha. 

Note is at the bottom!

Definition 1

Red. A bold colour that stood out like a sore thumb. A confident colour that didn't let itself be ordered around. A beautiful colour that told its own story.

Red. The vibrant hue was defined by the epitome of life. 

Passion. 

Freedom. 

Courage. 

Joy. 

Energy. 

Beauty.

Emotion.

Love.

It was the colour that faces flushed with when drowned with happiness. It was the colour that appeared on flags of countries renowned for their strength. It was the regal colour that accompanied people of importance down the carpet. It was the colour of roses that protruded through the green of leaves and bushes. It was beautiful.

But with beauty comes destruction. 

Definition 2

Red. A vicious colour that overtook one's attention. A agitated colour that manipulated with one's subconscious mind. A dangerous colour that told its own complication. 

Red. The stimulating colour was defined by the epitome of risk.

Sensitivity.

Stress.

Aggression.

Fear.

Caution.

Emergence.

Rage.

Hatred.

It was the colour that faces flushed with when drowned with anger. It was the colour that appeared on protest signs that sought to evoke awareness. It was the fleeting colour of cloaks in the wind when knights went off to battle. It was the colour of the area around eyes after a flood of tears. It was destructive. 

It was the same story that he could see in the mass of angry, ragged lines across the pale canvas of his skin. The silvery glint in his left hand was forgotten, replaced only by his thoughts of the crimson rubies that had begun pooling up. 

Virgil hated definition 1. It was a lie. The taste of the lie on his tongue was as foul as the taste of a coppery-tasting fluid. 

Another surge of worthlessness struck him, prompting for the blade to drag across his skin again. The effects were instant, the wounds stinging from the open air but numbing his persistently nagging mind. He could feel the tug of unconsciousness from loss of blood trying to overtake him, but he pushed it aside. 

As another line opened up on his skin, he thought back to definition 2. He frowned realised that there was no turning back anymore. He had discovered the truth and now the door he had entered was shut. No more innocence. No more freedom. No more escaping.