*Just a little scene I made for practice with contradicting characters*

Life is life a sharp stick. It pokes at you tauntingly your entire life until you let your guard down, then it stabs you in the heart; only this time, I’m the one who stabbed life. A _person’s _life. Yet, what was the first words that came to my mouth when I realized?

“He looks better in red anyway…”

And I smothered my red hands on his shirt like a maniac trying to hide the evidence. I can’t say I wasn’t; in fact, I can’t assure you much of anything I do. My thoughts and my actions and words all contradict each other, and it’s hard. But everything is when you’re a killer, isn’t it?

This boy I killed, he was my enemy for quite a while. Always better than me in seemingly everything. He _ruined _my life, snapped the stick in two. So I used what was left to stab him with it. And then he was all mine to torture. So I did.

When the police found me, the deed had already been done…

I tried to reason out of it, that I was working for someone higher, that they forced me to or they would kill me, but lying can never get you anywhere. It just put me in jail for longer.

_Yet it’s still so vivid in my mind how good he looked in red…_

…Sorry, I can get a little daydreamy about death sometimes… let’s just continue on.

A few days ago, I tried to escape from my cell, and even succeeded. The guards weren’t a match for the dagger I hid in my shoe. _Ashes, ashes, they all fell down…_ but my freedom fell with them. Now I’m right back where I started, yet the consequence is forever instead of five years.

_Maybe red is an unlucky color._