silence

(silence.)

it all starts like that, comfortable silence. a low humming in the background, whistles of cheerful children resounding through the thin air and the slow beat of foot tapping following afterwards. it is white, dull, comforting white, spread infinitely through the horizon.

(a spark.)

suddenly all stops, and somehow, a red paint bucket appears in the middle of the landscape. there is a brush - without no owner - gently dipping itself inside it, and it starts to paint. there is a doodled 'i think i'm having a crush' first, symbols of hollow hearts surrounding it. there are flowers, then, and a little 'now i think i have fallen in love' scribbled around it. the writing starts to become illegible, rushed. sometimes, the brush streaks the drawings with unforgiveable crimson, though it offers no apology in return. it's a shame, though. it could have been love.

(a burning fire.)

suddenly the brush starts to write 'I AM IN LOVE' in the middle of it - hot, red, angry, disappointed, raged - and it adds, on the bottom of it, 'AND I FUCKING HATE IT'. the brush begins to be busy then, illegible hearts and crosses on top of it appearing on the surface, spilling something like hushed and timid confessions over time.

(a steady flame.)

and there, after something that seems to never stop (read above), 'yes, i think i may have fallen in love' is written, shaky and afraid. 'i think my love is in love with me, too' is written after several periods of time, and the brush begins dancing. the red is filled with so much warmth, so much love and affection.

(a dying ember.)

but then, as always, it comes. the slow fall. the red begins to be cold, and it starts to become dark, dark crimson - and something like 'i hate you' is written in slithering malice, written in withering affection, written helplessly. there was nothing to save, really, because it is supposed to happen.

(a sudden darkness.)

wait. wait. this isn't supposed to happen - hold on! something is wrong, of course - this scene always ends with white washing all over again and this darkness is never supposed to happen -

oh, but oh - the red is still there, oh - oh -

is that blood?