Red.


Bright and bold, it blurs the vision creating illusions of grandeur. It goads boys into revolution, who think they are fearless. It shocks boys when they see it run through their own fingers, flow from their own wounds. It frightens them as they watch it obscure their ideals. They falter and depart, betrayed by its intensity.

Hot and dim, it illuminates the morning. It casts a glow upon a world unchanged, which thinks it is reborn. It makes those squint who thought they could see the future. It enrages those who feel its blaze for they know heat without warmth; zeal without progress.

There is no comfort to be taken from a world awash in red.