Crimson. What happened?

I remember. I was running. My fists clenched while I tried to hide. To run away from the shadow lurking, hiding so deep in the dark. It was behind me, I knew it, but no matter where I go, it always trails behind. It always follows.

Being the leader of it feels daunting, and horrifying. I should be controlling it, but yet, it has me entangled in the webs of string masterfully crafted by the puppeteer itself. The vicious cycle of controlling, running, hiding. Which one am I doing right now?

I have to hide forever, to keep myself in a place of solace.

The sun stared at me while I clenched books in my hands, probably pitying me. Who would ever want a life of confinement just to escape a mere game of hide-and-seek? One always seeks freedom in life, to be able to run around without anything holding them down.

Most of the time, they fly too little.

I snapped back into reality. As I looked out the window, it looked… surreal. An ethereal place of euphoria. Love. Freedom. 

How I wish I could leave.

My fingers trembled, slightly. The books in my hand felt heavy. I ripped out one page, now a crisp golden-brown because of how long I trapped myself for, and grabbed a pen.

I would be the one to rewrite my life now. Not any monster, not anyone.

I tiptoed to the door of my house, carefully creaking it open. My feet stopped. My eyes shuffled around, panicking frantically. I felt the monster here again. After I tried so hard to get rid of it, to lock myself up, I thought it would disappear. I thought it would leave.

Why can’t it leave me alone?

I clutched the pen in my hands tightly. “What… do you want from me?” I felt the monster glare at me, unlike its usual calm composure. It felt angry, furious, ready to release.

It was as if I had kept it from me for far too long.

I closed the door. If I could not leave, the monster should not be able to either. Walking towards the mirror, I glanced at myself. You can do this. Just… hit it with the paper in your hands. Stab it in the chest with your pen. 

You can sense where it is.

I got into a fighting stance and wielded my pen. I closed my eyes and felt my own body take over me. Find the monster, save yourself.

I felt something unveil itself. The monster… it’s visible now. I was too distraught to think like that though. I jabbed the pen, used my paper to pierce into its skin, tear out some of its flesh.

Cautiously, I opened my eyes.

Everything was a blur. My mind felt hazy. I look below me. 

Crimson. Burning. Some kind of hidden passion oozing out of my skin. I slide my hand against the palm of the other hand, blood cascading onto my ring finger. My hands had slits on them, likely caused by sharp edges. My chest had holes, or did they look like black ink spots?

My fingers (try to) curl slightly, a piece of paper held in my hand. It droops onto the floor, arching towards the mirror, standing away in the distance. I stare back at my own reflection. Its smile is menacing, manipulating, and looks timid. I feel something in me trying to break free; it felt familiar. My eyes watered slowly, and I felt my eyes jam shut again.

I think I killed the monster. I feel like I command my body fully now. I look at my reflection again. I let out a blood-curling laugh, a “crimson” smile.

I guess it’s impossible to escape something, especially if that something happens to be yourself.

I head towards the sink, and wash off the crimson on my hands. It looks like I won’t be seeing crimson for a while, but simply, red.