Crimson
Crimson...it is odd how one color over time can mean so many different things to a man.
Perhaps it had that power due to the dark and bleak world that he had surrounded himself in for so long. Everything dull. Gray, beige, and black. Everything the same colors, as he felt his life and his soul were dreary and lifeless. All because of the first time he saw that color. Crimson pooled on the pavement. The moment he knew that the world wasn't fair, nor was it kind. A lesson he should have never allowed himself to forget...yet he had.
Because that horrific color got paired with the brightest of blues and purest of yellows - so stunning and beautiful to behold - the crimson he saw in his nightmares began to change...to morph from horrors of childhood into the fanciful hopes of a lonesome man. No longer was it crimson stained pavement below the flickering neon sign of the theater, but now it was a bunched pool of fabric glowing in the light of the moon on the floor of his bedroom. It became a color filled with hope and exhilaration.
However, as more time went on the meaning of the dreadful color changed into that of comfort and trust as a friendship formed and grew between the darkest gloom of his world and the bright and colorful hope of this man who was a gift from the stars.
Years continued to go by, and suddenly the color that taunted him with images of what was beneath was suddenly gifted to him. The color meant more to Bruce than it ever had before. It had come to mean love and joy. It had come to mean that he would never have to be alone - that he now had something to fight for instead of against. He now fought for the color he had spent his life fighting against. And that should have been his first clue as to what horrors awaited him.
He was not one who was meant to be happy. His destiny was that of the lonely avenger in the night. He knew that now. Bright and colorful days filled with happiness and contentment were not meant for the likes of him. No, his life was for the grays, the beige, and forever the black. As he stared down at the darkly stained crimson fabric in his hands, Bruce learned anew the lesson he was taught as a boy. The world is not fair, nor kind. There is no place for beautiful blues nor pure yellows in his world. And as he shed the single tear for his now lost love, he wondered if fate would have allowed Clark to live if he, Bruce, had never allowed himself to love him.
Perhaps it had that power due to the dark and bleak world that he had surrounded himself in for so long. Everything dull. Gray, beige, and black. Everything the same colors, as he felt his life and his soul were dreary and lifeless. All because of the first time he saw that color. Crimson pooled on the pavement. The moment he knew that the world wasn't fair, nor was it kind. A lesson he should have never allowed himself to forget...yet he had.
Because that horrific color got paired with the brightest of blues and purest of yellows - so stunning and beautiful to behold - the crimson he saw in his nightmares began to change...to morph from horrors of childhood into the fanciful hopes of a lonesome man. No longer was it crimson stained pavement below the flickering neon sign of the theater, but now it was a bunched pool of fabric glowing in the light of the moon on the floor of his bedroom. It became a color filled with hope and exhilaration.
However, as more time went on the meaning of the dreadful color changed into that of comfort and trust as a friendship formed and grew between the darkest gloom of his world and the bright and colorful hope of this man who was a gift from the stars.
Years continued to go by, and suddenly the color that taunted him with images of what was beneath was suddenly gifted to him. The color meant more to Bruce than it ever had before. It had come to mean love and joy. It had come to mean that he would never have to be alone - that he now had something to fight for instead of against. He now fought for the color he had spent his life fighting against. And that should have been his first clue as to what horrors awaited him.
He was not one who was meant to be happy. His destiny was that of the lonely avenger in the night. He knew that now. Bright and colorful days filled with happiness and contentment were not meant for the likes of him. No, his life was for the grays, the beige, and forever the black. As he stared down at the darkly stained crimson fabric in his hands, Bruce learned anew the lesson he was taught as a boy. The world is not fair, nor kind. There is no place for beautiful blues nor pure yellows in his world. And as he shed the single tear for his now lost love, he wondered if fate would have allowed Clark to live if he, Bruce, had never allowed himself to love him.