Red

Red.

 Like the sunset. A crimson sky painted with neon clouds.

Like a flame. Blazing and consuming.

Like a valentine. A paper heart with jagged edges.

Everywhere is red.

Pools of bitter, sticky red.

On the grass, slick with rain.

Pouring from open flesh.

On my trembling fingers.

Under my bitten nails.

They graze her cheek. Come away wet with new blood.

Hers or my own?

Stroking her hair. Red upon shimmering red. Matted and tangled.

Eyes flutter open.

Brown eyes almost black. Tears on porcelain skin.

Sharp stinging hated tears of my own.

 Hands caressing ashen cheeks.

Carmine lips parting.

Cut and bruised and bleeding. Taking ragged breaths.

Agony spelled out in freckles on marble flesh.

Hoarse, painful whispers.

"Is this what it feels like?" she asks.

Her voice is like sandpaper and the gentle night breeze.

I try hard to smile.

Fail as salt water slides over my skin. Mixes with rain and blood.

"Am I dying?" she asks.

Blade in my side, ripping me apart.

Sick lurching stomach.

Words echoing loudly in my jumbled mind.

Pushing them away.

"No, " I reply.

My voice is so weak and speaking burns my throat.

Please let me be right.

Fears manifesting and eating me alive.

White hot and screaming.

"You’re hurt," she whispers.

Brown eyes shift. Worried and glistening. Landing on my ribs.

Pain and blood and broken, shattered bones.

Horrible knowledge slamming into me.

"I’m not ready," I say.

 Flooded with fear of what lies beyond this life.

I am not prepared.

 There is so much left to do, it’s all up to me.

 I was born to be the hero.

"Neither am I."

Salty trails are a monument to this moment.

It may be the end.

 There are too many bodies, too many lost.

The hero has fallen.

"I couldn’t save them, I couldn’t save you."

A cool, soft hand on my cheek, as mine is on hers.

Gently caressing my already cold skin.

Red lips curving into a wry smile under the tears.

Her light touch eases the pain.

"We’ll see them again. Soon."

I don’t want this promise. I want to believe that we will be fine.

But the dark liquid seeping through my shirt tells me otherwise.

My head is feeling light.

Not yet, I think. Just a few more minutes.

"I love you, you know," I tell her.

I have said it many times, but I am so afraid that she might forget.

She sighs, and it turns into a violent coughing fit. I wince and squeeze her hand.

When it ends, she falls back onto the grass. Her skin is almost gray now.

She nods.

I lean over her, brushing her wet red hair from her face, and kiss her.

Her lips are only slightly warm, responding weakly to mine.

The taste of blood is like metal. Reminding me that our time is small.

When I pull away, her eyes are half closed.

I ease off of her and onto the empty stretch of grass beside her.

Reach for her hand and lace my fingers through hers.

I want to tell her again, whisper those three words into the breeze.

But my voice fails me, and breathing is becoming more laborious.

I close my eyes.

I feel no more pain.

It is beautiful white here.

But I look down and see a world of red.

Broken bodies and shattered lives.

And in this sea of horror, there they are.

Hands intertwined. Cold flesh on cold flesh.

Laying together in death as in life.

The hero and his love.