Author's Note: Hello! I'm back with my second story :)
This is going to be a series of one-shots on Percy's musings of colors...(Trust me, it will sound better in the story...) Each chapter is going to be a different color, and depending on my mood, I might add a few chapters in Annabeth's point of view, too. Oh, and about the genre; this chapter is closest to angst, I guess, but the genre might change later on, because each color reflects different feelings, and such.
P.S. Thanks to everybody who took time to read my first fanfic, and a special thank you to those who reviewed/fav'ed/followed my story! It really made my day! :D
Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson, or any of his amazing friends.
Red was vicious. Red was atrocious. Red was dark and the color of the devil.
Red...was his enemy.
.
Red splatters where he stands, his hands shaking, even as his knuckles grow white on his grip.
All around him, life is shattering.
Like rubies in the sun, they glitter for a moment before showering down in pieces.
He tries not to feel. Tries not to fall. Tries not to remember at all.
.
Red surrounds him as he sinks under, drowning, drowning, again and again.
Waves of red from oceans of blood.
He doesn't go up, because he knows he's done for.
The surface shines red, like the blanket of velvet on a wedding aisle.
.
Red bubbles up and threatens to spill, to explode like lava in a volcano, because he's watching life wither away, shriveling and crying and dying around him.
Gods, it feels both hot and cold, extreme in the darkness that his life is.
It's hot, hot, hot; spiking in fury as he stands and sees.
Red marks the victim as it hits with a crack, sharp and loud and harsh, like the bolts of lightning that shoots, way above and across the sky.
.
Red glows waningly in the skies above, and he knows that it is life.
Life is like a red, red star.
It burns bright and it lights the dark, but in the end they turn to ash.
.
His world is washed in red. He knows red like the back of his hand, and he hates it, so so much.
Red kills and breathes. Red burns and cools.
Red is beauty. Red is pain. Red is fury.
Red is red.
Red, is his worst, worst enemy.
He sees red on days like this, in the middle of the War, in the middle of a battle, and he stops for a while to take a look. All around him, people freeze, and is he the one that's making it happen? People are now solid and immovable. Water droplets stay in the air, its resolute defiance of gravity shining. However in this time, things are there that he cannot control.
Even in this time, red does not stop. It rolls around on the ground by his feet, and streams down from his friends' wounds. They have no chance against something like that. He whispers a prayer for each of the fallen.
He moves around each of the statues, but red is the only color he sees. The world is like a canvas of colors, but red is strong, and red is harsh. Soon enough, red is the winner.
Red beats every other color.
He sees things from a veil of red, and he knows who'll live and he knows who'll die. There's a crimson-stained sword that flashes in the sun, and he knows, knows, that once he lets go, his friend-it's her-would die. He wants to stop the weapon from moving, but he can't control this time forever. I'm so sorry-why can't he move? He needs to stop, to protect her, but please, I can't let go-
Time starts again, the sword comes down, and this time, he is red.
Even when the dream has ended, red remains in the back of his eyes.
Red, red, red, red…
Unforgiving, unforgettable, carmine, crimson, fire brick, flame, lava, lust, maroon, and scarlet.
Red is love. Red is hatred. Red is passion. Red is rage. Red is life, and red is death.
He feels red, and he hates red.
After all, red is red.