Test for Red

Trauma filled his sweat, he could not see, he could not feel. Nevertheless, its presence was felt. What? He could not tell. Loosely resembling a single neuron pulse through the nervous system. A gentle tingling of seething, dripping, hungry blackness starving for light. Shards of glass protruded from his tender flesh, he felt no pain, smoking metal melted his thighs, he felt no pain, filthy oil saturated an open wound crossing his side and filling his guts, he felt no pain; the guts were half-full. Was this the end? Had Death come to strip him of this life?...Death was looming, its shadow that single neuron shot.

But something remained clinging to the air. An infinite petrification, undying and forever penetrating. A cruel killer; slithering, unleashing terror and spitting out his chewed up heart. By this, Death amounted to nothing: pleading for mercy, caught in an endless escape, caught in what could only be the torture of Love.