Red

Several decades ago, a young boy the age of seven lived with his widowed mother. The boy's birthday neared and his mother was clueless on what to get her son. A toy? A storybook? A videogame perhaps? When the day of the boy's birthday came, she got him something perfect. The present the boy received was neatly wrapped in a shiny red wrapping paper, obviously since the boy's favorite color was red. A smile resided on the boys face as he tore into the scarlet paper, sending smidgets of its remains flying into the air and falling to rest amongst the larger pieces that already taken residence on the floor.

In the box was an arrangement of jars, containing various colors of the rainbow. The boys smile grew immensely, specifically at the jar containing red paint.

He became a regular finger painter after he received his birthday present, painting stick figures to animals to simple designs, everything with the paints, exclusively the red paint. Paint runs out eventually though.

One day when the boy went to go paint in his room, he noticed his jar of red paint was deplenished. A large frown spread across the boy's face.

'Where did the red paint go?' he thought, seizing the container.

He hustled down the stairwell to the living room where his mother sat.

"Mom!" he squeaked "The red paint is missing mom!"

His mother looked up from the book she was currently reading to examine her fretting son.

"You used all of the paints already?" she asked, slightly surprised that he used an entire paint set so quickly.

"No! But there is no more red paint!" he shot back urgently.

"I'll get you some more red paint when you finish using all the other paints. All right?" she turned her attention back to the book she was interrupted from reading, dismissing him. The boy turned back and started to scale up the stairs, a large frown occupying his face, jar in hand. As he neared the top, he stubbed his foot onto one of the steps.

"Ouch!" he squealed and dropped the jar that was previously occupying his hand, sending it shattering into many pieces, and scattering all over the floor. He moaned in frustration, crouching down to pick up the red tinted glass pieces when a sudden paint on his finger was brought to his attention. The boy looked at his finger to find a small piece of glass lodged in his flesh. The boy pulled lightly on the shard hissing as it exited his skin. His hissing ceased when he saw something most curious. Paint. Red paint flowed out of his finger, settling in the crevices of his finger print. He scanned the floor that was scattered with pieces of glass.

He quickly collected all of the pieces of misplaced glass and rushed into his room, slamming the door behind him. The boy picked out a specifically sharp shard of glass and held it up to the palm of his left hand. He dragged the jagged piece across the soft surface of his skin, ignoring the pain. Small pearls of blood appeared a moment later. A small grin appeared on the boy's face, unknowing of what he was doing to himself.

'Now I don't have to wait' he thought, smile widened slightly 'this is going to be fun'.

It's been three days since the boy found out about the 'paint' that came from his very flesh. But when he tried to paint it hurt. A lot. A he painted he felt extremky faint and he felt pain when he painted with the opening where it came from, making his fingers burn terribly as he formed pictures on paper. Hence, he needed a new source of the so called paint.

The boy located a large shard of glass and an empty paint jar. With the items in hand, he shuffled down the flight of stairs.

"Mom?" he asked, reaching the bottom of the stairs. His mother turned from what she was doing to face her child, signaling him to speak.

"Do you mind if I get some red paint from you? I used all the other paints so can I?" Well he did use the other paints. He dumped the contents the contents in the toilet.

"You used all of the other paint?" He nodded vigorously.

"All right then. I'll get you some paint"

"Thank you!" The boy said in delight, trotting over to the place his mother sat. He stood up on the chair behind his mother's, reaching her height just barely, grabbing the wad of hair concealing her neck.

"Honey?" the single mother asked skeptically, confused by her sons actions.

"Why are you-!" She let out a bloodcurdling shriek when her son plunged the glass weapon deep into her neck, tearing deep into her muscle tissues with ease. Blood spurted out of her neck, splattering everything in its path with deep red. The glass was removed as fast as it was injected, forcing flesh and tendons out of its owners skin along with a waterfall of blood, running thickly over the floor. The paint jar was moved next to the jagged wound on the woman's neck, getting filled up almost instantly. The owner of the red liquid gasped and chocked as her own blood filled her mouth, practically drowning her. She pushed desperately on her neck wound, frantically trying to stop the flow of blood. Of course, she was too late. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell to the floor with a loud squelch. The boy picked up the jar with bloodied hands and looked at his fallen mother, oblivious of her death.

"Thank You!" he vanished into the hallway, the last thing he saw was blood rolling down his mothers chin and onto the floor, staining its landing place red.