Quite simply put, I can’t get enough of the color crimson. I’m so obsessed with it that virtually nothing is quite right unless I see a little bit of it each day. But that’s perfectly acceptable, right? Everybody has a favorite color that they absolutely have to have access to. That’s just how it is.
Now where was I? Oh, yes; I was about to explain just how I satisfy my craving for crimson. You see, I’m a rather picky creature by nature. Put in another set of words, I’m the Goldie Locks of colors: the color has to be “just right” to win my affection. Now to save myself from the heart-breaking experience of having to hunt for the perfect shade all of the time, I have found it to be simpler to cut to the chase and obtain it in a rather pure form: nectar. I know what you’re thinking, but I can assure you that I don’t harvest just any flower for this substance. Heck, not all of them were even flowers to begin with! Some, I regret to say, came off of animals of the crudest types. Now I would tell you what types just for reference, but to be perfectly frank it’s just too upsetting to even dwell on such sickening matters.
There are days when acquiring this nectar is blissfully easy. A simple twist of the wrist or a single swing is all that it takes to get it sometimes. One time though, to my memory, I even managed to get some after biting it. (That definitely freaked me out at first, but after witnessing the results I’d be more than willing to try this primitive method again.) It is on days like those that I’m at my most relaxed.
But those other days…the ones were I have to struggle and squirm and strife for it…oh, those days make me boil over! The pursuit of happiness shouldn’t be limited by unruly things such as those, especially since it turns my word into such an ugly shade of red that I feel as though I should tear my own eyes from their sockets to spare them from the madness! But of course, this method wouldn’t work at all, now would it? Its immediate result would be that imperfect color polluting the tapestry of my mind, which in turn would drive me into further madness. Finally, its long-term affect would be to prevent me from having the one medium that provides me with this simple pleasure in the first place. Oh well, “c’est la vie” as they say.
As fate would have it though, the last few days of my life would be consumed by this wretched feeling. Most unbecoming, to be sure, but it was unavoidable. You see, an old friend of mine recently decided to grant me a surprise visit while I was in the process of acquiring this nectar. At first my heart was overwhelmed with joy at my friend’s consideration because it had been almost a decade since their last visit. I was so happy, in fact, that I abandoned my project altogether and rushed to embrace them.
Perhaps it was the remnants of the nectar on my clothes that frightened my dear friend—admittedly, it’s not always a pretty sight—or maybe it was the effects of time over my countenance that surprised them. Either way, after one glance my friend shrieked and ran off. I tried to call my rude friend later to find out what had come over them but…well…they just wouldn’t answer. As you might have guessed, this incident caused me quite a bit of pain. But what’s the point on dwelling on such trivial issues? There are more things wrong in this world aside from antisocial friends, and all things seem to solve themselves when granted enough time. In fact, I say, “let my so-called ‘friend’ do whatever it is they want! At least I have my precious crimson at my side.”
Alas, how short-lived my confidence was.
