Palm of Red

There is a moon out tonight.

Who am I?

All i remember is red, the red of my birth in the simplest terms. Not too abnormal is it, to be born of three people. They told me i had parents, they told me as i came out that they were there with me, and i remember a bit...i remember their warmth embracing me as they stained into my clothes. I remember them teaching me to walk, as they squished between my toes from the soles of my shoes, and i remember eyes looking into me from beyond, putting my hand on a heart unrelated to mine, my hand reddening a deep scarlet before being torn away by frightened guards, so pale when i emerged dripping crimson. I have three parents, and the only face i remember is the one who killed my parents, who's life stained my palm and entered a secret place in my heart.

There is a moon out tonight, allowing me to see when the world is blind. People don't come out at night, thats good so they don't see me. Sometimes they try to talk to me, especially women when i go to taverns to sleep when it is raining or snowy. I don't do well on my own, in fact i don't do well. I don't understand people.

"Hey babe, do you need some company tonight?"

No, no i do not need your company, i do not need your pity or your sex. I don't need you, only your structures because the world is scary and i need to stay indoors if i can make it. Unless it's clear out, and warm, i learned my lesson from father winter.

"Forgive me fathers i know winter is not my papa"

Where am i going? Sigh I can admit that i sometimes feel jealous of these humans when they embrace each other, it only makes me sick. I see them as ghosts, faces hold no meaning for me, I only remember one, as he lay there bleating, barely breathing, heart hardly beating. His blood is in me too.

This bag is getting heavy, in some ways it's comforting to know i am being weighed down by food, hunger is painful. It grinds away at you until you feel dizzy and weak and end up waking up in an inn with people who should have just left you where you were.

It's difficult to go from one place to another without ever stopping for more than a night. People don't like me, they don't like the way i talk and so they hate me, hitting and kicking me out of their villages with flaming sticks and angry cries.

There is something in the air, something comfortable; maybe just the feel of nature, of the warm night and the clear sky that i am thankful for. The moon is behind the hill i climb and i quicken my pace to reach the top in order to see her.

...

"What is this? Papa, i know not what i should do." forgive me moon for i have become distracted by this scene. Below me spreads a portrait, a portrait drawn in silver. The land below me reflects your light, moon, and i do not know why. But it is beautiful and it smells like the few copper coins in my purse. My legs walk on their own into the basin, and as i get closer the smell becomes stronger, invading my nose with it's metallic tang, the feel of which i can only compare to one other time in my memory.

I am not afraid of this though, i only feel more at ease as i come close enough to see the sparkle of blood dripping down a leaf of grass. This could not have happened more than minutes ago, but i heard no screams, see no grasses folded down on neighboring hills marking the passing of an army. Yet here! In this place there must be at least a hundred men slain!

Not only slain, i notice as my pace quickens, but cut into pieces, i stop for a moment to admire a limb, half submerged in an inch of blood covering the ground, it's crimson fingers crawling up the legs of my pants as if wishing to enter my heart. For a moment i am almost tempted to oblige, to fall into it and let the warmth flow around the frame of my quivering body, a living vessel of chaos in a field of peace. Yet there is another here, so camouflaged i can only see it by the moons reflection on it's Katana, unwavering, as though it was a paintbrush sitting calmly in the hand of the artist as he studies his creation. It stands under a great, blooming, cherry tree, the leaves still falling this far into the summer. They flow around her katana, making the still shine of her sword blink like a beacon calling me.

I must meet this person, this statuesque artist, and my feet move all on their own, a ghost propelling me toward the figure. As i come closer i notice this artist is a girl, her slim waist and ample bosom give it away yet...I know because of her eyes, big silver orbs that stare into nothing, the sky i guess. They remind me of me, there is life in them, yet they seem uninterested, dead. they seem to have moved from nothing to me, un inquiring.

My god she is beautiful. Her white kimono shifts slightly throwing drops of blood onto the already soaked ground, and suddenly she in front of me, her paintbrush poised against my neck ready to absorb the ink from my veins.

I am unafraid, in fact i am interestingly aroused, even as my hand reaches up to grab the blade drawing blood from my previously stained palm as i push the blade down. The moon in her eyes becomes full even as her black hair blows in front of her eyes leaving small bloody lines across her cheek like crows feet. She's afraid, but for the first time in a long long time, i am confident. I can see this face, this smooth, sorrowful look that i can't seem to rid from my mind. Her lips look sweet, red as ripe fruit from their grim natural lipstick, salty from kisses stolen by blood splatter.

I need my hands and as i release the blade i realize my hand was the only strength keeping it from being submerged in the scarlet bath. My blood mixes with the rest as it stains the neck and shoulders of her kimono as i pull it slowly down. Other than her face the rest of her body in nearly white, how has had so little attention fro the sun? The outer layers of ourselves begin to fall and as we kiss the blood from my hand falls down her neck; drips of it slowly slide down her breasts and waist as we fall to the ground, slowly, with the cherry blossoms. She is so warm on me, for the first time i know who i am, where i am meant to be. I am meant to be with her, for now that is all.

I don't know how time passed us by, but eventually we had to finish. She reaches down to retrieve her Katana, permanently stained red from it's time among the dead. As she looks at it her eyes are loving, as she looks at me her eyes are the same. She smiles, and although i have seen hundreds before, hers makes me shake. My heart beats faster, and as we walk away i grab her hand...one red palm in another.