Work Text:
Someone once asked me if everything was in black and white when I was alive, like the photographs.
I told them no.
Obviously. Cameras simply weren’t as advanced as they are nowadays. The real world was full of colour.
But somehow, they still managed to make us all black or white.
Black, like my coffee, like the pupils of our eyes, black, like my mother.
White, like keys on the piano, like the clouds looming overhead, white, like my father.
But what happened when you mixed the two? What happened to people like me?
When it came to black, much like blood at the scene of a crime; one drop was enough to prove you guilty. And I knew all too well just how guilty I was.
I knew -and perhaps I was the only man who did- that black or white; we all bleed the same colour.
Red.
Sweet, vengeful red.
Horrible, murderous red.
Satisfying, glorious red.
Red was the only colour I ever cared about.