The Red Monologue

Isn’t it disappointing when the crimson red turns brown? The red- the red is what I want. The red is what gave me the thrill. Now, you think that this is a madman talking-that I am insane. Only an insane man could think these horrible thoughts. I was not always the madman that I am now. I never thought about killing- it was merely a tragic thing that happened to those around me, but you never think you will be the one behind the blade. You never think that something so terrible, so awful could happen to you. It just doesn’t. Of course, until it does.
It started with the dreams- the dreams that came not only at night, but at every waking moment that my eyes were shut. I couldn’t escape the dream of the blood, of the red pouring out of the
I smiled, I laughed, I played with the brown eyed boy in the next room. I allowed myself to indulge in the perks of everyday life. I ignored the blood pouring out every time I closed my eyes, every time that my head hit a pillow.
I no longer considered them dreams. I really never should have, a dream is something of happiness or something so strange that you laugh when you wake up at the absurdity that your mind conjured. No, these are not dreams. These- these are nightmares. The brown eyed boy who’s named Jamie, has noticed I think. That is what worried me. I had always prided myself in not showing the world how I felt, how I woke every morning in tears and soaked in sweat. He had begun to suspect something was wrong. Jamie, of course, had heard these cries at night and rushed in to comfort me. As the dreams- nightmares, really, increased in intensity, my mood increasingly grew poorer. I was angry- oh so angry. I no longer let Jamie comfort me, or let him wrap his strong arms around me as I shook and spasmed. I now knew who the man in the dream was. It was
My was hand was clammy as I gripped the hilt blade beneath my pillow. He spoke, but I heard no words. I stared back blankly until he leaned closer, and that is when I became a madman. My arm swung out from under the pillow, the knife sliced in a straight but diagonal line across his neck. His brown eyes widened in shock and pain, but he made no audible sound. I watched as he made no attempt to stop the bleeding. I leaned over him, and watched the blood pour out of the wound. I felt no remorse. I know I should have. I should have felt something-anything- as I watched him reach his arm up and take my hand in his own. I felt nothing-O God, what a monster I have become. Not even five minutes later I knew he was dead. His hand in mine was limp, and losing warmth. I stared, not knowing what to do next. My mind raced, wondering and fearing for the future. Who would find out? Would I be caught? No! Of course I wouldn’t be caught. I was too smart. Ha! Yes, I could easily fool the