The Red Morning

            My foot touches the loathed ground of my prison and the door of the car slams behind me, building another barrier between me and the woman who brings pain in the way only family knows how; and another fight is added to the tally. I walk weakly to the entrance without glancing back at the pinkest sunrise that had once given me joy; it is only a reflection of last night’s blood red sunset. The hollow feeling swells in my chest as I pass through the threshold into a hallway, that has always taken the resemblance of the dark passageway leading to a gas chamber, and I am hardly able to drag my weary bones down to collapse in front of the room of so much mixed joy and loathing: the choir room.

            The floor is hard and cold, reflecting the day to day struggles faced, and yet it seems much more comfortable than any downy comforter and mattress at that moment and I am paralyzed by heavy limbs and sleepy eyes. The leaden footfalls of the red-eyed zombies reverberate off the vast and empty walls while they meander aimlessly, as wraiths haunted by the red daemons that force them to walk on for all eternity; for that is every day in itself, an eternity. And thus another red day, another red eternity begins and ends only for that brief, breath of time between eternities, before all obligations become renewed, in that brief moment alone there is happiness, the moment when red eyes seal and the red sun sets crushing with it the potential the day had as yet another day is swallowed up in a sea of red, diluted only by the invisible tears for the wasted potential and the conformity to the mediocre.