A/N: I was reading the Mellon chronicles story ‘Tears Like Rain’ which can be found at www dot aragorn-legolas dot 5u dot com under fanfiction if you click ‘Sort by author.’ Anyway, the line that inspired this piece was “But no one, no matter what mistakes they may make or how slow of a learner he may be, deserves to be treated like you have been.” Which inspired the thought that ‘no one’ included villains as well. Thus, ‘Bleeding Red.’ I hope you enjoy.

Summary: “I’m sorry,” I said softly, hoping he would hear, hoping he’d understand, hoping, praying he’d forgive. The heroes do the right thing most of the time. But this time, they’re in the wrong.

There were stands selling food and drink set up around the perimeter of the square. All around, the gathered crowd bought refreshments in preparation of the show. We still had a good half-hour before it began, and so I had a lot of time to kill. I didn’t buy anything from the refreshment stands; I wasn’t hungry. I felt that if I ate something, I’d just throw it back up. I really didn’t want to go through that.

There was a huge crowd gathered in the center of the square. In the middle of it, Daren had been cornered by admirers. I felt sorry for him. He was one of my closest friends, and he never did like attention, even if he had just caught a villain. It really didn’t make a difference to him. Briefly, I considered breaking through the crowd and getting him out of there, but I discarded that possibility; I was small, and the virtual mob would probably trample me in their excitement to get to Daren.

At a noise from my left, I turned to the stage. The door behind it was opened. First, out came a number of men carrying the podium between them. Quickly and skillfully, they set it up and disappeared again. They were so quiet that had I not been watching, I wouldn’t have noticed them at all. Next came the guards. Two on each side of the podium, they quickly took their places and stood still and silent, waiting.

By this time, Daren and his crowd of admirers had noticed the goings on. I found myself suddenly and completely enveloped by the mass of bodies, and my vision was obscured. I tried to move forward and out of the horde, but I couldn’t. I received an accidental elbow in the ribs for my trouble—accidental, but nevertheless painful. Rubbing the sore spot, I stepped back from the offending elbow only to receive a shove forward as someone else tried to move to get a better view. Scowling, I gave up, moving with the crowd and trying to get away from as much of the pushing, shoving and elbowing going on as possible. Heroes had so much respect for those they saved—usually girls—but around their own homes they were generally arrogant, vain slobs. They were just as rude to the girls—who, according to them, they always protected. Privately, I really hoped Daren wouldn’t turn out like all the other heroes, although I didn’t hold out much faith. I’d known some of the other heroes. Before they’d become what they were, they were some of the kindest people I’d ever met. Now, they were all like the rest. I’d probably have to find a new best friend sometime soon, although it hurt to think that; Dar and I had been best friends for as long as I could remember.

Finally, after a ten-minute wait, the last part of the procession came out. First came two more guards. They held chains in their hands, and with a jerk on the aforementioned chains, the villain was pulled into the light. He stumbled as he was pulled forward, and I could tell the guards were being rougher than necessary. Sure, I knew villains were totally evil an deserved no less…but somehow, I didn’t believe it. Maybe it was the forlorn, defeated way he held himself. Maybe it was the blood that ran down his face from a cut above his eye: it was red, just like mine. Maybe it was the look in his eyes. I don’t know why—but I started to feel…sorry for him. I hid it quickly. If I was caught feeling sorry for the enemy, I could be locked up for a good two months, or I could even be punished with the villain. They’d never dare to do that to one of their own precious heroes; But I was an extra, a nothing, a female; They’d have no qualms about giving me a villain’s punishment, and if they decided to do it, not even Dar could stop them.

The “punishment” began. At first, the villain took it in silence. A lash was brought down again and again across his unprotected back. His eyes grew slightly wider, and from where I was standing I had a good look at his face. His eyes began to fill with pain, and his teeth were clenching. The lashing wore on, and I could see the pain becoming harder and harder to contain within. Soon he’d cry out. Then the lashing would become harder. I’d seen this many times before, too many times before. If I had a choice, I’d stay home. But these “punishments” were mandatory.

The punishment would last more than one day. When today’s punishment was through, the crowd dispersed and the villain was led forcefully back to his cell. Couldn’t they be a little more gentle? I saw them purposely applying more-than-necessary pressure to the man’s hurting back, just out of spite. That was unneeded, but I didn’t dare say anything. My views were skewed, they said. I needed to learn and accept the truth, they said. Maybe I did. But if the truth was beating another human, day after day after day, I didn’t even want to think about accepting it as fact, as everyday life, as normal. It wasn’t normal, I was sure; But I could prove nothing, so I kept my silence.

The second day was just as bad, but this time they used a belt instead of a lash. The belt—thicker and heavier—did more damage. The villain cried out at the end of the second day, and his punishment was extended because of it. Everyone else thought it was fitting for one so heartless, so cruel. None of them had gotten a look into his eyes, filled with pain and fear and…sorrow. Well, maybe Daren had. When I looked over at him, I could see something akin to regret in his face, even though he hid it well.

The third and the fourth days, they continued to use the belt. I thought they should give him a break; The welts on his back were being covered over with new welts, and they’d long since drawn blood; But the heroes were relentless, and again, I was too afraid of the consequences to stand up and say something. Our society and the people living in it worked for good, they said. Everything they did was done in hopes of bettering the world, they said. But why not just kill the villain? Why prolong his suffering like this? I had the fleeting thought that maybe they were doing it for their own twisted enjoyment. Something was seriously wrong with my fellow heroes, something they were skillfully hiding from the world.

Five days. Six days. Seven. Eight. Each day passed as the last one had. No one seemed to lose their enjoyment in watching the villain suffer. No one but me and Dar, it seemed. On the fifth day, I knew for certain something was wrong with that society. I was staring at the villain, somehow transfixed by the look in his eyes. They glittered, and as I watched, an insuppressible tear escaped his eye. It ran down one cheek, and my eyes grew a little wider. Villains didn’t cry…Did they? None of the others had. But now that I looked closer, I figured this one was younger than the others. Perhaps twenty or twenty-one—maybe even nineteen. Barely out of his teenaged years. And the guards were beating him with no regard for his well-being.

The ninth day, the guards progressed to using an actual whip. I could barely stand the look in the villain’s eyes now. Daren, too, was averting his eyes. Maybe he wouldn’t change like the others had. Maybe not.

And on the tenth day, the last day, the villain was done away with. There, for all the crowd to see. It never bothered me quite as much as it did that last time. But villains bleed red, like all the rest of us do. I’d never seen the villains’ blood before; I’d always been stuck in the back of the crowd, where I could see nothing at all. Now, though, I wished I hadn’t seen it. Because villains bleed red, just like everyone else.

And that’s why I’m sitting here now. That’s why I can hear the cheers of the crowd, coupled with the occasional cry of pain from Dar, always quickly and skillfully silenced. I was wrong to think they wouldn’t “punish” one of their own heroes. Or maybe I was right. To them, Dar is no longer a hero, so why hold back? I can understand their logic, but it’s so twisted, so wrong. That’s why I’m trying not to lean against the cold stone wall. That would aggravate the marks crisscrossing my back. That’s why I’m recording my thoughts here in hopes that maybe someone will find them later on. That’s why I hear a key turning in a lock, and that’s why I notice that the cheers and Dar’s cries have fallen silent. A tear falls from my eye and splashes the page, because Daren wouldn’t be so silent if he was still living. I dragged my best friend into this, and it’s my fault he got caught.

I had explained to Dar my thoughts. I was taking a huge risk, but it paid off. He sympathized—with me, and with that young villain. So we’d made our plan. We planned to run away from there. We didn’t want to live there any longer, because we couldn’t stand what the heroes were trying to make us believe. Neither of us could.

We waited until nightfall. Dar and I snuck out of our houses. We didn’t leave any notes or letters, or else we’d be caught very quickly—magic users would be able to track us. So we slipped out of the houses and met up with each other in the square. We’d almost reached the border of our village. What we had not counted on was the increase in the guards.

We were outnumbered. Daren was taken down first—he was the most dangerous—and then I followed. When we awoke, we had been locked up in cells right beside each other. It was a little cruel; We were so close, but we would have a very hard time getting to each other through the bars. My wrists were slimmer than Dar’s though. I slipped my hand through the bars, and he grasped it. We both needed comfort, because we both knew what was coming next. In the darkness, two words were spoken by each of us. The only two words we’d need to speak, because they said it all.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, hoping he would hear, hoping he’d understand, hoping, praying he’d forgive.

“I know.” His tone of voice said all he never spoke aloud. A little sigh of relief escaped my lips; He wasn’t angry with me.

It has been ten days since then. Recalling it on paper, the tears return. I got him into this mess, it’s all my fault. His words ring in my ears again and again, and they comfort me; But I still feel the loss and the guilt burning at me.

My only consolation doubles as another of my sorrows, and that is that they didn’t make me watch Dar’s punishment. We tried to run, therefore we were villains. We were villains, therefore we were heartless. I think they thought that since we were heartless, it wouldn’t hurt me if I watched him get whipped, so they left me in my cell while they punished him.

Every day, they returned him to his cell, pushing him roughly in and locking the barred door. When they were gone, I would put my hand through the bars. Sometimes, he would grasp my hand in one of his shaking ones. But as the days wore on, he grew weaker from blood loss and the pain. When it all became too much, when he was too tired and too pained and too weak to move enough to take my hand, I would put my hand between the lowest bars of my cell, very near the floor. He would use all his strength to come close to the bars separating us, and I would rub soothing circles on his hands or arms, or I would simply place a hand on his forehead while he concentrated on breathing. Some days, he was thrown into the cell unconscious. Sometimes he was thrown close enough to the bars for me to put my hand on one of his. Other times he was too far for me to offer any comfort at all.

That went on for ten days. Now, it is over, and it is my turn. I write these last thoughts as quickly as I can for fear of being discovered. It isn’t fear for my life—that will end soon anyway, whether I fear for it or not—but fear for the safety of this record of the true cruelty of the ones you call heroes. I can only hope someone will find this, read it and perhaps even do something about it. I only wish that I could have done something more than just write it down. So I am imploring now: don’t let this go on any longer. Fight it, and if you do, do it because you believe. Because villains cry tears, and because villains bleed red, just like all the rest of us.

A/N: I really like these new characters, and I think that with some background development and whatnot they could really turn into something. I might do another piece with them, too. Tell me what you think—of the story and of the characters. Flames are welcome, but they will be used to fight the evil heroes, and the words of aforementioned flames will be completely ignored and disregarded. Thank you!