the red liquid of life

He looks down at his arm in pain and watches his life pass before his eyes. The beautiful, hypnotic liquid is the colour of death. Not black. The colour of death can be many colours. Black is only one of them. For him, the colour of death was the warm, red liquid running down his arm. So majestic. Setting him free. Free like the mind of an innocent child who's imagination can take them anywhere. His body goes numb as the red liquid drips ever so beautifully to the floor. He collapses, no longer having the strength to stay upright. It slowly makes a pool, encasing his body. He curls up in the liquid feeling, not sadness, but joy. Happy that he can finally be free of the torments of life. His eyes glaze over, barely able to see. He finally gets his freedom. Losing the red liquid and taking his life has given him the freedom he desired. The freedom he believed in so immensly that he sacrificed himself for an eternity of bliss.