If You Don't Understand My Silence, You Won't Understand My Words

Black smoke escaped from my lips as I spoke through a scrap of pearl white printer paper. The sheet crumpled and burned, remnants falling on the ground of what used to be. Eyes darted open. A new slip of paper, aged manilla with a scent of fresh roses. Crimson most likely.

Sympathy indulged me. The smoke from my lips had discontinued their constant withdrawal, slowly drifting to a frown. A large creak sounded, a man exiting the aged theater, leaving behind a wallet containing seventeen dollars, three quarters, one nickel, nine pennies. Three credit cards, one debit, and a ten percent off coupon to a cheap and poor quality retailer.

What a fucking curse.

I glanced at the chips of paper on the floor, the message clearly set in my mind. The light from the moon illuminated the scraps only imprinting the letters verbatim inside my memory.

Frank, he's red.

My time was almost gone, and soon I could go to a place. A place they call home. But it's not home. Home is with your loved ones, and your allies and friends. But that doesn't exist anymore. My loved ones had gone their separate paths, while I stay motionless through this one. It's just a cycle of events, a cycle of hell.

I should be gone, unremembered, and left alone. And yet I step on the Earth's surface, asking myself why I haven't met my family at the other end. Asking myself why I'm still here.

The dead help train the freshly deceased, telling them how to look after the living and how to find their purpose on Earth so they can see their own loved ones at the other side. It seems so simple. The hard way, I learned that it's not.

One of my deceased colleagues passes by, a dry smile upon his face. "Frank, you don't have to watch over the living all the time. Besides, you have a new kid on our life. Yellow, black, blue?" Yellow meant an accidental death. Black meant suicide. Blue meant murder.

"Red..." I spoke quietly.

His eyes widened. "That--that can't be."

"Believe it," I sighed.

"Frank," he began, slowly. "He's going to be our destruction."

"Just because his color is red?" I didn't exactly understand the color red, but I knew it never existed in our time. I didn't know what it meant either.

"Cancer. His cancer, he's a beast," he swore. " They don't belong here."

Notes

new story (song credit from Pierce The Veil ft. Kellin Quinn: King For A Day)

:D should i continue?