Red
The colour of the underworld. The colour of the dead.
Whenever I have to return here, I see red.
No. Not from anger. Or rage, or hatred. That's the thing about you humans, always assuming the worst. Jumping to the wrong conclusions.
But then again, that must be your emotions speaking.
Everything is just red here. That's how I see, in colours. A canvas of colour, over colour, over colour, to create… something. A world, a dream, a memory. Something.
Of course there are other colours too, otherwise nothing would be distinguishable from another. Lights and shadows which billow and swirl with the tide of change. But generally, here in the world between, I see red.
But then they came.
.:.
Have you ever seen the appearance of a rainbow? Has anyone? Doubtful. With no indication of when or where, it is only ever spotted after it has appeared. But you notice don't you.
They came like a rainbow. I cannot say when or where, but they did. A force of colour and light splintering the monotony around them. The essence of their life force pooled and meandered across the landscape of this underworld.
All but one.
.:.
I like to think that I've seen it all in my long line of work. I'm wrong of course, because every now and then there's something that throws me off. I've seen men embrace me with open arms, or resign themselves to the inevitable, as they watch their own life force trickle through their hands, and know that grasping onto it is useless.
I've seen those brave and heroic one's who make me change direction at the last minute, or those who desperately try to hold on, souls of syrup that hope to seep in and stick as best they can to life.
But never before have I had someone look me in the eye. The thief was the first. Like the needle of a compass, he turned. He found me. Stole eye contact straight from under my nose.
One, two, three.
The dark haired woman reached out and touched his shoulder.
Four. Five.
A whisper on the wind, he turned away.
I watched him press a kiss to her temple as he knitted their fingers together, then walk away with a sort of steadfast determination.
I waited for him to look back.