The Red runs all down your arms, from the mess where your fingertips used to be, to the slices on your palms, to the grazes on your forearms. There are only two things going through your mind.
One, get somewhere small, dark and safe.
Two, how good The Red feels now that it’s all over you again.
You pull yourself to somewhere dark and safe, where the little shadow boy inside you comes out again, and his tears mix with The Red and you take your grief out on the thinning crystal box of your mind.