Pain

From the fate speaking series

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If pain were a color, would it be black or red? Would it be, in the very old sense, a root and thing of evil, tainted with wicked thoughts and terrible motives, both weakness in not following the light and strength in going your own way? Or could it be a different sense—could it be the sharpness of a dagger jab, the running of fresh blood that both releases and traps the hurt?

If pain were a scent, would it reek of fear or hopelessness? Would it be the trembling of the body, the weakness of the mind, the paralysis of every functioning thought and act? Or might it be the stillness and the realization that stops everything, that freezes with one instant and melts in the next and almost comes free, then freezes again, deeper, colder and harder than before, and the trapped sense of helplessness sets in?

If pain were a taste, would it be bitter or sweet? Would it bite and hallow into the senses, would it be foul and hard to swallow, a gagging, unpleasant thing, a twisting of guts and melting of resistance? Or would it be blissful in the awareness, peaceful in the awakening and tasteful in the ending, a charming and wonderful, still and serene passing of consciousness to another place?

If pain were a texture, would it be rough, jagged, or clean and smooth? Would it be tearing and obvious in its ability to cause hurt, wicked and ugly to behold, sharp and terrifying? Or would it be enticing, the spinning spindle wheel that looks so beautiful and entices being touched, but is so deadly in too many ways, a siren in the swamp?

If pain were a sound, would it be a song or a scream? Would it draw the mind, body and soul in on a soft stream of melody, with the easy voice and calming winds and harmonious notes? Or should it be sharp and shrill, loud and piercing, harsh and violent, bloody and heart-wrenching, long and drawn out and unceasing and never ending and…Pain.