RED

Pitch black darkness. No light. No warmth. No hope. No freedom. Just darkness. However, the boy inside the small and dark room was already used to it. To the darkness. To the loneliness. After all, it was everything he knew. Everything he ever knew. He never knew the feeling of family. Never experienced the feeling of warmth of others. Never felt at home.

Well, maybe he had felt it before. A long time ago. So long ago, he couldn't remember anymore. Didn't feel the need to remember. What would a few forgotten memories get him? Nothing. Nothing at all. The feelings were long lost and would never come back. After all it had already been a few years –he had lost count long ago- since he was taken from his parents. Though parents wasn't the right way to phrase it. They weren't family. They only brought him into this world and that was it. He didn't feel attached to them at all. He never knew them after all. All he knew was the pitch black room. Sometimes there were colours in his life. Those times, when he was outside the room. His safe place. The colour most prominent to him was red. The red of life. The red of death. Oh, how he loved to see the colour. After all, it was the only colour other than black and white he ever saw. He could never get enough of it. See all its different shades. See how it forms on the ground. Feel it on his hands, his face, his body. Red was what mattered to him. Oh, how he loathed to see it again. That beautiful red humans seemed to not recognize. They didn't understand how precious the colour was. How perfect. But he knew. For the boy it was his world. All that he needed. He wanted to see it again. The colour that made his heart beat faster. That made him feel alive.

However, he was in the pitch black room. Nothing but black and darkness to be seen. He was bored. So bored of not seeing. His violet eyes snapped open at a sound. He looked to the direction he knew the door was. Oh, how often he had tried to open it. But it was impossible from the inside. Now he was waiting –every day, every night- that the door would open. An open door meant colours. Meant red. The only important thing to the boy.

Another sound. He heard the beeping sound of the lock and then the door opened. Blinding white light filled the room. Every inch was illuminated. However, the boy didn't even flinch when it hit his eyes. He was used to it after all.

"Subject 318, you are required. There is work for you."

A man in white stood in front of the door. The boy didn't even acknowledge him. He was white. The dreaded white colour. The colour he hated the most. The colour that brought pain and hate. And still the colour that made him who he was.

Stretching his arms he stood up and walked to the door. He fiddled with the choker around his neck. He was finally getting some fun again. He would finally see red again. Oh, how he would love to begin right now but the man in front of him was not worth it. He was not worth of seeing the beauty of red. After all white and red didn't match. The white of the man would dirty his beautiful red. Would make it grotesque. Would taint it. No, this man was not worth it. None of the white ones were worthy. All of them would only soil his red.

He followed the man trough the white corridors at a fast pace. He couldn't wait. He wanted to see the colour again. Everything in here was either black or white. He didn't want to see. Only his red. He licked his lips. Yes, his red. His beautiful, perfect crimson. The boy grinned at first but it gradually began to widen. The smile stretched wider than it should be possible for a human the faster he got to his colour. To the room full of red. To the voices. The echoes. The screams. Yes, he wanted them to scream. To scream and show him their beautiful red. He could already smell the unmistakable scent of iron. Oh, how the boy wanted to be coloured in red. Tear them apart just to see their beauty. His violet eyes shined with anticipation.

He couldn't wait anymore.