Red

   2 am can’t quite fall asleep… I hear the humming of the motor of the fan… drenched in sweat lying on this desolate room…I see a beam of moonlight fall angular to the floor from my window… a grayish white beam of light…I hear the clock ticking tick… tick… tick… the monotony hypnotizes me…In this isolated room - all that is-  I and my beating heart…I placed my arm on my forehead like I always did staring at the ceiling I have come to know so well…a spider dangling on its web… its been here for days just like me…

            The shadow of the fan cuts the beam of light…one after another a steady flicker comes out of it… just enough to insist this lucidity in my head... is this a dream or am I really here did my head create this places to escape the torture of the existent world. It don’t matter I’m numb here; in a different plane of peace and tranquility in the lucidity of my mind I am safe.

            The colors of this room send a morbid chill…one that cuts trough my bones… grays, black, and -a dull almost rust shade of- yellow surround me…its so blank so plane that my deadness seem to go in tune with this world.

            It’s been years since I’ve needed someone… I can’t even remember the last instant I felt the necessity of human touch. It appears all foreign to me now… the longing for contact it feels like a distant memory that I am unsure occurred. The clock ticks along with my thumping heart…the beats seem to follow the rhythm of the second hand as it counts the seconds away…tick…tick…tick… that steady… rhythm that, droning anguish…

            A fly hovers across the room; I stare at it and consider her as my friend in my world all I have is a clock, my spider my fan and her… she drifted too closely to the fan blowing her of course be careful my little fly watch out for the wind…her tiny wings carrying her copping to stable her self out…I’m proud of you little fly…I have a spider here in my ceiling watch out my voice whispered to her; listen to my caution little fly he’s here lurking in the dark…flies are hard headed creatures they have a mind of their own. She flew too closely to the web and found herself ensnared in its pinions your dead my little fly… he’ll poison you and rot your flesh from the inside out while your still alive he’ll keep you moving just for spite and when you’ve decayed inside he’ll drink you and leave a shell of what you once were…my poor little fly I hate to loose you; I won’t say “I told you so…”

            I squished the spider with my hand, opened my palm and stood there gazing at the twitching legs and juicy guts of what use to be a spider… I’m alone again just like before. I have my own world here the dull colors calm me keep me safe in my uniformity… tick…tick…tick… the batteries of my clock are dying…my heart has gone so accustomed to its cadence tick...... tick...... tick...... does it mean the beats of my heart will come to its end? I’m lying here looking at my ceiling with the shell of my fly and the spider at my hand… finally the clock is winding down…my time has come to pass…the sweet serenity of death’s finger in my head… tick…… tick……tic……ti……

            GGGHHAAAsssspppp…. My last breath….. I lay here waiting for death to lay his hand on me. but what is this? She taps on my window; forcing her way in to my solitude a red butterfly? How odd? How bleak? A touch of color on this dreary sight…does death embody himself in the image you least expect?! A butterfly red and brilliant in its subtlety… lands on me; lands on my chest… tick…tick…tick…the timepiece runs?! The room brightens the clock strikes 3…