Red

Her

Blood. Red blood squeezing through my fingers and dripping to the ground. Stinging pain. Red vision. Red-stained green stem with pink thorns tearing through my skin. Red drips soaking into red petals beneath my feet. Red to brown to black. Black, crusty, dried blood. My skeleton rests with the stem in my hand, the thorns embedded into my bones. The throat of the rose was slashed along with my own.

Him

No one can know. No one will know. Her body will rot in the room forever. Rose, she said. She called the girl a rose. Her rose. Liability. Her love makes her this. Brown hair that will slowly dull and fall. Black hair that is still bouncing and curling. Blue eyes, green eyes, the latter now lifeless, the former with no more want for sight. Blue eyes as piercing as mine, green eyes fierce and ready to kill. I will kill her if I have too. More blood on my hands does nothing. They're too bloody to tell the difference. Too red. Red, the color of my new ghosts. There is not a day in the future I can foresee without me being haunted by the color red. Sister. Sister, wake up. Breath the breath of life again. Sister, please. Is my kinship not enough? Are my tears not the fountain of youth? Have I been lied to all these years? Your death was not a mistake. My actions were swift and true and scarlet. I could not see clearly. My vision was clouded with the bloody color. The crimson. The ruby. The cherry. The rose. The red.