Red
"The true color of life is the color of the body, the color of the covered red, the implicit and not explicit red of the living heart and the pulses. It is the modest color of the unpublished blood." -Alice Meynell
Red has more personal associations than any other color. Recognized as a stimulant, red is inherently exciting and the amount of red is directly related to the level of energy perceived. Red draws attention and a keen use of red as an accent can immediately focus attention on a particular element.
Increases enthusiasm
Stimulates energy and can increase the blood pressure, respiration, heartbeat, and pulse rate
Encourages action and confidence
Provides a sense of protection from fears and anxiety
This chapter is dedicated to Ratt9, who writes the best insane Beyond Birthday I've ever read. :)
Beyond Birthday smiled and crossed his toes, deliriously happy about something no spectator could see, for it was his, all his doing. He felt a giggle rise in his throat, turning his heart hot. He tried to hold it down but it bubbled from between his chapped lips. It was a lively sound, full of unadulterated glee, but it was skewed.
Beyond Birthday was skewed. They'd told him. But Beyond Birthday knew they were wrong, because L was not skewed. If L had been skewed, Beyond Birthday would have been extremely skewed. As it was, L was a genius, and that made B an extreme genius.
A murderer, they argued.
Not a murderer. Beyond just wanted to poke and prod his favorite subject. That was all. He'd done it multiple times, with other subjects – just taken a peek inside. Even if some of his experiments had failed, it was a beautiful art, and Beyond was the illustrious grand master.
He uncrossed his toes and flexed them in agitation. He was bored. He slumped down a bit, disheartened. He missed poking and prodding. All he had left was remembering - sweet memories.
He remembered the purple blotches just beneath the skin of the woman's arm. It had been disappointing. But he'd finished her off, yes he did, ol' B got the job done.
All at once, the giggles returned to him; he held his breath, pushing his cheeks out like a goldfish. First he'd turn red, he knew, then blue, then purple. And not long after, he'd go white, white, white. Beyond had seen a lot of death. Yes, you'd turn white, hard, cold. Ugly. He knew the stages of dying. He'd seen the difference between the moment breathing ceased, and the moment the brain actually turned off, like the flick of a switch. The eyeballs would actually flatten, only five minutes after death, until they were grey and dull. And then the body would start to shrink in on itself.
Beyond loved watching the vibrant red stream of life run out until they were dead, dead, dead as a doornail.
Beyond let his breath out and shook his head wildly, the jagged ends of his hair flopping.
"Woof," he chuckled, and settled back against the wall.
That had been an interesting experiment, the internal hemorrhaging. It had failed. That was okay. He'd still managed to convey his meaning well enough. After the victim failed to die, he'd just severed the right leg and left arm; she'd died from blood loss.
And then there had been the little girl. Bad enough to kill an adult, B thought, amused, but a child. Unforgivable. She'd been unconscious when she was killed. Drugged, then bludgeoned, the front of her head stoved in. Blunt force trauma to the head, the reports said. How boring. It was much more than that. It was exhilaration. After the first few strikes, Beyond hadn't been aware that his arm continued to rise and fall. He just kept his mouth closed (B was a lot of things, but never a cannibal) and held on tight for the ride.
Beyond dropped his chin so it rested on his chest. He crossed his eyes and chewed the tip of his tongue. Then he focused on his toes, raising his eyebrows a bit. He scissored his legs slowly, feeling a smirk curl its way onto his lips. He was making a snow angel in his cell, for the floor was white and soft as snow. He occupied his body with this diverting task, but allowed his eyes to close as he imagined.
The man had opened the door to his room when Beyond had pounced, animal-like. Beyond liked messes, but in this case, it was unnecessary. The man had been drugged before Beyond had looped the rope over his head. He'd also been unconscious as his last strangled breath hissed out.
Beyond entertained himself with this recollection, and then picked his head up off of his chest and, with difficulty, wormed his way back up into a better sitting position. He frowned in distant annoyance at his Halloween costume – the rough material that he was wearing, pinning his arms over his chest. It was restrictive, such a nuisance. But it was mostly the distasteful color that bothered him. White. Dull, quaint, unspecial. He hated it. If he had to wear the silly thing, why couldn't it be a color with personality, like a deep, passionate red?
Oh well. He was fond of costumes, and he would still get his treats.
Next: Orange