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.H e m o p h o b i a.

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The irrational fear of blood.

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This chapter is specially dedicated to starfmalover. Thank you for your kinds review and the invective to write another chapter in the same day. :)

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Edward Elric loved the color red.

It was no secret that the blonde's most worn color was also his favorite. His coat was red; his boots had red; his heart was red; his spirit was red; his hands were red.

They were all tainted.

He loved the color because it was bright, it was burning, it was eye-catching. It made him stand out from the rest, and that's exactly what he wanted. He wanted to be different. Because he felt like he deserved to be different. Because he was the one who ruined his own life, and people didn't need to be around him. Everywhere he walked, everyone he spoke to, it was almost as if they were writing out their death wish.

Because he was misery.

Because he was death.

Because he was blood.

And even though he didn't know it, people always said that red was his color. Because it was so bright; like him. It was so burning; like his eyes. It was so mesmerizing; like his future.

It was the color of his failure, it was the color that splashed all over his face and caused his brother to die and his mother to die and him to die. It broke every piece of his heart, because his heart was red itself, the color of eternal taint. It slowly took him away, because it was the color of insanity, it was the color of his life.

Red.

The color of blood.

Blood itself was essentially a mixture of liquid fissures (iron, copper, some other trace amounts of metal,) and cells. It carried oxygen throughout the arteries and was one of the most vital functions of the human body, next to the heart, the lungs, and the brain.

Blood was also the sign of hell.

Because blood was the thing that he saw, everyday of his life, it flowed from his veins and from other people, and from all the pain and suffering and cries and desperate death wishes -

The color of war.

It killed, blood was the signal of something that finally died. Something, that when blood no longer flowed through your veins and was pumped from your heart and sent to your organs - that meant you were dead.

But it also meant that he was breathing, that this beautifully horrible fluid was running through him, keeping him breathing, keeping him alive, that his heart accelerated whenever trouble came his way and slowed down when he was resting and sent messages that the fiery personality was still bursting in him. It still reminded him that he was human, that humans made mistakes, that he was imperfect and always would be, and he didn't need to change that. It reminded him of what he was loosing, how every beat send him a second in time, closer to his death, closer to the day his heart would stop and beat no more.

That's why he loved the color red. Not because it was a 'tough guy color that got to blood boiling', but because it made his heart freeze, it made his brain think, it made his mind understand. It was the complete paradox of his life, it created death and pain and agony, and it created life and warmth and made him breathe.

And he thought, that was why he loved the color red.

And why he absolutely fucking despised it.

Red took away everything; it reminded him that his own veins were not the same as his brother's, who did not have a body. Who was a cold, unfeeling metal armor. Every time he bled in a fight, every time he felt agonizing pain, he always felt guilty and relived. At least Alphonse wouldn't have to feel this. But then again, Alphonse couldn't feel anything.

Red was the opposite of calm. It was the opposite of his life.

He hated it and he loved it, because it reminded him how scared he was of the blood running through his veins because he was alive when he shouldn't be.

He had cheated death so many times, he got lucky so many times, how much longer was it going to hold out? Things like this didn't happen to people like him, because people like him had to create their own paths because they strayed from the one they were supposed to follow. He was supposed to die a long time ago.

And that was another thing that made him truly afraid, because the blood in his veins should have stopped a long time ago, yet they still beat in a condescending rhythm, reminding him every waking moment of what was supposed to be.

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