All is red. Red is the sun as it kisses the horizon. Red are the clouds that cover the sky, red is the smoke that rises from the red flames. The ground is stained red, the vital fluid of a town’s population having poured across it. The water is thickened by the redness, as those whose blood spilled into it has changed its consitency.
Red is my vision, red is my soul. Red consumes and replenishes me. It scars and heals me. The desire cannot be quenched, no matter how much red I obtain. No cost is too high, no sacrifice too great in pirsuit of the red.
Now it comes again, the pulsing deathbeat. The ticking of the clock in my body. I thirst again! Damn this curse! Damn me, for what I must do to satisfy myself! I reach out to take the red, but now, after so long, the taste is bitter. Nowhere do I see an end for my longing, for my need.
Is this sad habit what it is to be a god?