Everything was calm for hours after the man's heart stopped beating. My thoughts were deliciously blue, wonderfully streaked with color that grew stronger with each passing minute. I loved it. Pinks and yellows swirling around- eventually, not a black thought in sight, and barely a blue idea among them. When I finally drifted off to sleep, too tired to fight it anymore, despite how much I wanted to enjoy the quiet, my dreams were different. Less dark. There was a light, floaty feeling to them. I never wanted it to end.

-/-/-

Morning came, sunlight streaming through my window. Long ago, I had moved my bed so that it wouldn't hit my face… it made waking up much more relaxing. Now, I opened my eyes to the sunbeams' under-shine, the softer light than the harsh one I had grown used to expecting to, and, now, realized that I loved, see in the mornings.

I stretched, enjoying the feeling of my muscles tightening, the feel of my sheets brushing against my skin, the feeling of my breath in my lungs.

I didn't realize all that I was missing with the horrorterrors in my mind. The peace- the peace! How could I describe it fully? A constant whirling in my mind, a constant black, a constant hate, forever angry, forever shifting, forever moving, no rest no rest no rest- it was gone, all of it, and silence blanketed my thoughts, my thoughts, I knew for sure they were mine. I had my mind to myself, I had the calm, I had the quiet for the first time. Ever. I let myself relax further into the blankets and pillows, breathing deeply, staring at the sunlight on my ceiling. The feeling of relief- a feeling of relief I didn't even know I needed, was overpowering. My mind felt so different, so wonderfully different. It felt like, I imagined, what it must have felt like before I got the horrorterrors, (if there was ever even a time,), it felt like what others must feel like all the time.

I wanted this to stay.

I needed this to stay.

For a moment, after that thought, there was a brief, indigo idea amidst the calm- Shouldn't you be worried? Shouldn't you be upset? A man's blood stains your hands.

But then it was gone, smothered under a mass of pinks and yellows and blues screaming about their own lives, about their own desires, wondering why they can't exist, why the man's life was more important than their own, why, why, why couldn't they exist, why couldn't they be happy-

I sat up, shoving my blankets to the floor, the blue thought powering through the pile. Suddenly, I was breathing heavily.

Life isn't fair- I knew this. Different lives all have the same values; I knew this too. No one was worth more, no one was worth less.

But my horrorterrors, my pink and yellow thoughts, my sanity… is sanity not more important than life? Without sanity, is one's life even worse than death? Death may bring consciousness, death may bring sanity… death carries comfort. The man died to save my sanity, to save what is most precious to a person, what is now most precious to me- he is now free of this earth, he is now in a place where, I would imagine, he would always be sane, would always know and feel yellows and pinks. And I, because of his sacrifice, would be in the same situation, just alive. Sanity- that is worth more than life. Without sanity, one also does not have life, right? Sanity rules over life, sanity makes life worthwhile, without sanity you cannot have life, but you can have sanity without life. I took life, but I did not take sanity- so, would this mean that I even took life? The living aspect of it, yes. But the raw form of Life…

I grit my teeth, drawing my legs up to my chest.

This is fair, isn't it?

The indigo thought was growing, turning several yellow thoughts an ugly green, several pink thoughts a strange shade of purple. Something seemed to cut through my mind, jarring me.

What had I done? I had killed a man.

Oh my God. I killed a man.

I jumped up quickly, my feet sinking into the mattress. I didn't know what I was doing- I felt faint, I felt like I was floating away. I looked around my room, at the needles and yarn, at the desk, at my books and pencils and writing journals, at my computer, at my hands.

I killed a man. I ended a life. For me. To help me. I murdered someone. The cold logic from before melted, puddling at the base of my mind, my thoughts growing bigger and bigger, louder and louder, less and less blue. They were going to burst out of me, they were going to explode, flying out of my head. Already, they were increasing in size, pressing against my skull from the inside, too big to stay where they were much longer, too loud too purple too guilty for my mind and my head was splitting open-

I put my hands on my temples and dropped to my knees, reality hitting me in the stomach you murdered you killed you killed a man my mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out killer murderer he's dead dead dead I needed someone I needed someone to come oh, God, what do I do his blood coats your hands and then a scream ripped from my throat, my vocal chords sawing into motion, a monotonous cry that grated against my ears, that scared most the thoughts into silence, the greens and purples shutting up, staying quiet.

But the original indigo thought stayed, circling around and around my mind, changing itself slightly, forcing me to realize fully what I had done- you are a killer, you took a life, you are a killer.

I removed my hands from my head, hugging myself now, closing my eyes, swaying slightly.

What am I going to do?

I opened my eyes, slowly, and looked around my room again. Everything was in the place I had left it- everything was still normal. I took a deep, shaky breath, my lungs expanding until I thought they would burst. Maybe-

The door to my room burst open, slamming against the wall and bouncing back towards my mother, standing in the doorway.

"Rose?" she asked, her eyes wide, panicked, darting around the room before meeting mine. My name was slurred slightly, but her eyes were clear, alert. "Wha's wrong? Why'd you scream?" She took a step towards me, a hand on her hip. "Is someone tryin'ta hurt you?"

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Wordlessly, I shook my head. She pursed her lips, shifting her martini glass from one hand to the other. "Okay. Okay," she muttered. "You're okay?" I nodded, watching as she ran a hand through her hair.

"Good, good. Okay. All's good, then." She grinned at me, then, relaxing her stance, the air in the room changing from the tense feeling that I hadn't noticed until now. "Wanna get breakfeest?" she asked, then giggled. "Sorry. Breakfast."

Normally, I would have said no. Normally, the horrorterrors would be withering, blacker than black, spewing curses and spitting insults, disgust dripping from my mind, vile words from my lips.

But now-

Now I needed breakfast with my mom.

I nodded, twisting off my bed, and padded after her down the stairs to the kitchen.

Should it have frightened me that, despite the warring colors, I never once thought of confessing?