(This is another experimental writing . Once again, the narrator isn’t me. I just like to write in a first person point of view because I like to step on other ppl’s shoes)
It was crimson. No matter how much I tried to wash it away, it remained the same way it always did. Crimson.
I could no longer remember how I came to see crimson through this pair of eyes, but I cannot escape this fate of mine. My hands are still crimson in colour. And I came to love it, and came to yearn for it more and more each time.
The crimson that ran through my hands could only make my heart beat faster, much faster than I had experienced on my first ride of the roller coaster in theme parks. Crimson has become part of me, part of the things I need to do…part of the pleasure of life, part of the reason for my very existence in this wicked world. Wicked…yes..this world is wicked.
The tint of crimson is different. I dig my hands into the container where the crimson is. It is warm. It is as enchanting as ever. Another different tint has coated over, my lips shape into a smile. How fascinating has this become. And still, I yearn for more.
More. I dig deeper into the container, only to find that it won’t stop flowing. Like miners who found gold, I am victorious in crimson. No one can beat me to it. For I am the master of crimson, and no one can stop me.
The quick footsteps draw close to me. They are trying to take crimson away from me. No. I won’t let that happen. That is mine to begin with and only I can write my own destiny. Crimson, cover me with your beauty. Cover me with it forever. I don’t want it to be apart from me. As I lie this way, I can hear a soft melody down from below.
For I am the master of crimson, and no one can stop me. How fascinating has this become. And still, I yearn for more.