Bloodied Hearts

I looked around at the world with disgust, day in and day out. Everyone describes the world in blues or greens.

I describe it in red. Blood red. Not bright, or faded. Only dark, sickening red.

Most people know the expression 'blood on your hands'. Well, for me it's more than an expression. It's life.

I can really see it. Every person, every being that I've ever seen has some. Yes, even I have some.

The worst part is that it doesn't go away. I've tried washing it off, even covering it with the real thing. But no, it's still there and it won't wash away.

It's an odd thing when I walk down the street. Everywhere I look, it's on every person.

Some people only have it on their hands. Some people have it on their feet, and occasionally on their clothes. That's how bad it is.

Their's no way to escape it, but that doesn't mean I don't try to. I don't let people touch me, and rarely do I let them get near me at all.

It's a lonely life, but it's easier than being near someone that you can see when they hurt others. Even without being a witness.

Some people say that red is the color of passion or love. They also say that it's some people's color for clothing, 'it suits them'.

When you see it everywhere, every day, on every person, it's a bit hard to believe that.

I never left my lonely life, and I was actually happy that way. Until I saw someone.

Someone who had no blood on them anywhere. Not on their clothes, or their hands or anything they carried with them.

They were different. They were still pure. They didn't have a speck of red on them. I asked someone about them, and they said no one knew much. That person kept away from people, and hardely spoke to them. Most assumed that they didn't know how to speak or even show emotions.

I was interested to say the least. I came to the same spot the next day, and I saw them again. Still pure, still no red, not a drop.

The more I watched, the more I noticed. They acted like they could see the red too. They kept away from the ones with the most, and was less dormant with the ones that had less.

Though I never got close enough to see everything clearly, I saw one thing for sure. No red, not even a stain of it.

Finally, I went to this person and started talking with them. That's when I noticed something. There was something red on them.

Their eyes. It was the deepest red I had ever seen, and they looked sadder than the whole world bursting into tears.

They looked hollow, and empty, like a shell of the soul that used to be there.

I kept talking to them. I wanted to know what made their eyes so red, so sad and lifeless. And why it wasn't anywhere else.

I talked to them everyday, getting no where. There was no answer in the words they gave me. No hints or clues.

They became my one and only best friend. I had never gotten the answer before, because one day they didn't need to tell me.

I saw them cry for the first time. Even the tears were the same shade of those eyes, and when they dropped to the ground, I got my answer.

The tears that had already fell took shape, and they formed the simple answer I had wanted.

The words they spelled, was a simple statement and then a plea.

I've been beaten and broken.
Will you help fix me?

After that, I had a new thought go through my head.

Red was what this person wore with pride, and on them it looked beautiful.