Seeing Red

Red. Such a simple color yet with so many meanings. What exactly is the correct way to describe such a shade? For an artist, it is a primary color that when mixed with others can create an endless spectrum of hues which come together and create a masterpiece. For a writer, it could stand for immorality, or perhaps it is the color of the life principle, blood, passion, emotion, danger, or daring. It has been used to describe anger such as an endless flame, yet at the same time symbolize love in a single rose presented to a partner of one's choice. In some cultures it stands for fortune or wealth, perhaps even luck. But for others red is simply the hue of the long-wave end of the visible spectrum, evoked in the human observer by radiant energy with wavelengths of approximately 630 to 750 nanometers.

For the longest time, the very last definition previously listed was the way I myself would have described it had a person asked me about this color. I am a scientist after all so you could hardly blame me if the definition of my choice was the driest of the group. It wasn't until much later that I came to realize just how much red has affected me in various ways. And all through one boy, a boy whose presence in my life would forever be ingrained in my memory like a light that never dims. Or perhaps a better description would be a wound that never heals. Reader, allow me to take some time out of your schedule to tell you a little story…

It was many years ago in a small out of the way village where I had my first encounter with him. I was 35 years of age and knee-deep into my research and from the looks of it, I was onto something big. The village I was currently staying in was located somewhere in west Europe, a place I'd rather not name for the sake of the people's privacy. I planned to stay for a few years at most, focused on nothing but my research. However, life apparently had something else in mind for me. About the third month into my stay, I walked the streets one morning, 11:34 to be exact, searching for a place to dine. It started out as any other day with residents all out going about their business. Eventually, I stopped at a local booth selling pastries. However, when I reached for my wallet to pay the man, to my horror, I found my pockets completely emptied with not even a piece of lint left behind. But it was not the loss of my wallet that shook me the most. I hardly carried cash with me anymore and credit cards could be cancelled and replaced. No, it was the loss of my flash drive that had me shaking and quaking that day. Yes, laugh if you must, but it's the truth. For that flash drive contained valuable data that could one day end up catapulting me towards a brilliant discovery that the physics books would be speaking of forever or perhaps even explain the changing behaviors of…forgive me, I was getting ahead of myself. The point is that flash drive was quite important, and I couldn't afford to lose it.

Unfortunately, this left me with nothing to pay the vendor with, to my embarrassment. However, after I'd explained my situation, he went on to tell me about a young gypsy child living in this village who'd robbed multiple visitors other than myself. Apparently the boy was very good at his trade, leaving tourists baffled and penniless without them even realizing he'd struck. Why, some had even sent the cops after him but he always managed to get away without fail, 'almost like a phantom' in the man's words of choice. Nevertheless, I refused to leave until the vendor finally told me his supposed whereabouts. Only then did I strike off in search of this so-called, all-escaping "phantom".

At first, I searched high and low in nook and cranny of the given location fueled by my determination and anger. But as the minutes turned into hours, I grew tired and more frustrated until I was convinced that the vendor must have been mistaken. There was no sign of the boy anywhere. The village itself wasn't at all large; he couldn't have gotten too far. But alas, after five hours of fruitless searching my drive receded and I'd all but given up hope of ever recovering my lost files all the while cursing myself for not backing them up somewhere.

All of a sudden out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of movement on the ledge of one of the nearby houses, something far too big to be a bird. Turning in the direction of the movement, it was then that I finally laid eyes on what I assumed to be this "phantom". The boy sat atop the ledge, legs dangling over the side. He was younger than I expected, couldn't have been any older than eight. His skin was fairly pale for a gypsy, but his hair was a dark shade of black draping onto his shoulder. He was quite thin which was to be expected for a boy on the streets, but his brown eyes glowed with a determination I had never witnessed before, further conveyed in the taunting smirk he threw my way. The little imp! At this point, I was tired and hungry, not at all in the mood for any games. I demanded my wallet and flash drive back that instant, to which he responded with a childish laugh before dangling my belongings before my very eyes, threatening to toss them over if I didn't come and get him first. Now, I must admit that climbing or rather heights in general were never my forte. So after some fumbling about and a shaky start I had just about reached the spot where he sat when he suddenly stood up and dashed across the ledge with such ease, jumping off the ledge onto the next building nearby, leaving me no choice but to make chase. That wicked child!

Needless to say, it was a very long day for me. The boy was more agile than I'd previously given him credit for and he certainly knew his way around town far better than me. He ran across rooftops, slid down drain pipes and climbed over gates like a little gorilla with me huffing and puffing right behind him. I found myself in various…well, embarrassing positions, which included falling into a garbage can or tripping over my own feet along with others I'd rather not mention. I'm sure you're finding this rather amusing, aren't you Reader? At one point I was confident I'd caught him when I had him cornered in an alley and a fence until he darted under a small hole in the fence that I hadn't even noticed. But our chase finally ended about two hours later in a way I hadn't foreseen. With all that running on roofs and tall structures, something had to give eventually and indeed it did. One of the stone shingles must have been loose, or perhaps life was cutting me some slack for at that moment, that loose shingle caused the gypsy boy to slip and lose his footing, sending him falling towards the hard ground. Luckily I just happened to be down there at the time and caught him just before he could hit. Talk about a close call!

I wish I could say he came out unscathed, but if I did I would be lying. His arm must have caught on something on the way down for I discovered a large gash running from his elbow all the way down to his wrist, an awful injury that no child should have to suffer through. His blood seeped out slowly from the wound in bright streaks, introducing me to my first real encounter with the color red. Of course I'd seen the color before but not enough to strike me as it did then. This boy, a child was losing his life's blood and it was my fault. Surprisingly enough, he didn't cry like a normal child his age might, only gritted his teeth while his breath came out in heavy gasps.

What did I do then you might be thinking. Well, what could I do? The boy was injured I couldn't just leave him there. I attempted to wrap the wound as best as I could but knew that wouldn't be enough. He had to be brought to a doctor to be stitched up properly or else risk infection. So that's what I did as ridiculous as it may sound. Naturally, there were a few problems. He hadn't ever been to a doctor before and he put up quite a fight while we were there, particularly when the vaccine was being administered. Thankfully it all worked out in the end and we got through the process despite the initial difficulties. Why didn't we part ways then and there? I suppose I began to pity the boy as he continued to glare at me from a distance, not that I blamed him, but he still refused to relinquish my flash drive. I ended up bringing him home and serving him dinner as well as treating myself to food since I'd yet to eat anything all day. Sadly, packaged ramen was all I had in my pantry that day but he downed it quickly as though it was his last meal.

The entire time I could almost feel the vibes of doubt and suspicion cascading off of him. He continued to stare at me with narrowed eyes, probably afraid I might take advantage of him, not that I would mind you. He refused to speak at all during dinner, hardly even made a sound and I refused to push him. Trust me, I was feeling quite awkward myself, feeding a thief off the streets in my own home right after he'd robbed me! The very idea might sound outrageous to you Reader but I promise I only speak the truth. Rest assured, once dinner was over he went on his merry way with no further conflict or excitement thank the lord. It was only after he had been gone for about fifteen minutes when I realized that I had yet to retrieve my flash drive and wallet! What a fool I was, allowing myself to get distracted and forget the very reason I'd brought him here! No, I tossed and turned in bed that night distraught over all my hard work.

But very next day once I'd risen from bed and stepped out the front door, I found the boy waiting patiently for me. To say I was shocked would be an understatement and I found myself speechless. I couldn't fathom any reason why he'd return after an encounter such as ours yet here he was right on my doorstep. Before I could ask what he was doing here, he made his way over to me and asked why I'd helped him, what were my motives? When I told him it was because he was injured, he only looked at me with those narrowed brown eyes, obviously unconvinced. Then he asked why I hadn't turned him in to the police. There was no need for me to and I'd rather not see the police lock someone away. I assured him that this was my only reason, and offered to buy him some breakfast if he desired some. He followed though rather reluctantly. That day we spent another meal in silence. But I did eventually get my things back to my relief.

From that point on, things changed for me. While many may argue that they changed for the worse, I refuse to regret any of my actions no matter how damaging they may have been for both of us. The boy continued to be a regular visitor after that. Sometimes he would stay for a few minutes probably just to get a free meal and then leave hardly saying a word. I welcomed him all the same. However after a few weeks of those cold visits he began to arrive earlier and stay longer particularly to admire the machines I kept in my tiny home. Sometimes I would explain how each of them worked and what they were used for while he sat and listened. Other times I would tell him a little bit about me, where I came from, etc. Slowly, he warmed up to me and even began to tell me a little bit about himself. He'd never known his parents. I learned that he'd grown up in an orphanage not far from where I lived. After the place had shut down about two years ago, he'd set off on his own and survived through pickpocketing from tourists who occasionally came to visit. In a small town such as this one, resources were limited so it was every man for himself. Who had the time or money to take in an orphan off the streets? To most of the people, he was just a nuisance, unwanted, unloved, and unimportant. Thus, he'd grown up not trusting anyone. Reader, I tell you my heart cried out for this poor child, growing up all alone with not a single person there to help him. On one occasion I convinced him to stay the night due to a horrible rain storm. Unfortunately the only spot I had available was the couch. I'm sure you can imagine my surprise when I awoke in the middle of the night to find that he'd taken the cushions off my couch and used them to build a fort around himself. On the streets when it had rained in the past he'd used anything for shelter from trash cans to paper boxes, he later explained. The fort made him feel more secure.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, months turned to years and just as quickly as it began, my time in Europe drew to a close. My VISA was close to expiration so it was time for me to head home back to the United States. But what would I do about him? I couldn't just leave him in that village. He'd be all alone once more something I couldn't bear to think of. No, I wouldn't abandon him now. So, dear Reader, I did the one thing I never thought I'd do. I adopted the boy and brought him home with me. I gave him a new name, a new life, a new future. It was a hassle going through all the legal procedures but it was all worth it in the end. I remember clearly the day we flew to America, the first time he'd ever left the village. He wore an eager smile on his face, one that read excitement, as well as the bright red jacket I'd bought for him. The second time red touched me so.

The next few years were a blur, a wonderful blur filled with nothing but happiness as cheesy as it sounds. The boy became the son I'd never had. He was sent to school for the first time and surprisingly, he adapted rather well. He brought friends over every week, kept his grades up, and retained his interest in my research if not expanded on it. And he grew so quickly, I could hardly keep up with him! From an eight year old boy on the streets living off pickpocketing he'd grown into an educated young man of thirteen. Reader, those were the times I wished to remember forever the days where everything was perfect. But like a flower that blooms in spring and dies in the winter frost, all things good must come to an end. As pessimistic as it sounds, it is reality. At some point I had to leave again to gather more data for my next upcoming project. While I had taken leaves for business before, this trip would keep me away for over three months. Yes, three months. Normally I'd either take him with me or he'd stay with my brother. Unfortunately, even my brother couldn't keep him for that long and he couldn't afford to miss three months of school. I asked around for quite some time, but everyone turned me away. Everyone but one.

He was a former colleague of mine back in our school days. Back in the days when I was an undergraduate, he had been my professor, taught me most of what I knew and after I was hired by the university we worked alongside each other for a few years until I went off on my own. We eventually fell out of touch for a while except for the occasional messages back and forth. Anyway, he was the only one who was willing to watch my son for such a long period of time. By then, the trip was in a few days and I was desperate. I agreed to his offer of help without a hint of hesitation. The decision haunts me for only now do I realize what a fool I was. But at that time I was none the wiser. My son…I should have listened to him. He was fearful, didn't trust the man at all and I ignored his pleas to let him come along, turned away as he begged me not to leave him with that man. He truly began to shake me when tears began to leak from his eyes. I had never seen him cry before, not even when he'd injured himself the first time we met. I thought him to be a stubborn child then, over exaggerated tears to earn my pity. I refused to listen and left him alone with that man, Professor Chang. The last thing I saw before I left were his eyes filled with fear, bright red from tears he'd shed. Red.

It was long and tiring, but thankfully I'd been able to return home half a month early, partially out of stress but mostly out of worry. The first few days away from home, he and I communicated through phone calls once a night. It gradually became once a week until he stopped talking altogether. Two months into it, he didn't even return my calls, thus I hurried back the moment I could. If only I'd come sooner. I returned to find hell on Earth. Though I had never been very religious, that night the devil must have been out and about having his fun. The house where Professor Chang stayed was aflame fire's red dancing amongst the rubble. Call me foolish Reader, but I couldn't just stand there and wait for the authorities arrived. I wasn't thinking properly, all I could think about was my son. Where was he?! Had he managed to escape?! Or…was he still inside? Without a second thought, I made a mad dash into the burning building with nothing but a handkerchief over my mouth and nose.

I don't know how long I searched for him. It felt like hours, though that couldn't have been possible and now that I think about it, it couldn't have been more than a few seconds. But I found him, I did, though not as I'd last seen him. He was in the living room with his back to me, though this is not was puzzled me. Among the burning ash, he simply stood there unmoving, uncaring of the destruction that surrounded him. I called his name as loudly as I could, coughing as the smoke got to me, however my breath was only lost once he turned to face me. I could only stare in shock at what he'd become. While he'd always been very pale, his skin was now a deathly ash grey, resembling that of a corpse. But it was once again his eyes that struck me most of all. His brown eyes had turned a deep scarlet red, glowing brighter than any light I'd ever seen. Amongst the flames, he hardly differed from a soul damned to the pits of hell, a living demon. And just like a candle in the wind, he disappeared before my very eyes.

Reader you may think me delirious from the smoke but understand I know what I saw. I know because it would be the last time I ever saw him again. As for Chang, there was no trace of a body so I assumed he'd escaped if he'd been there at all. From the data I managed to gather in his "secure files", I learned the truth, the ugly truth, and cursed myself to no end. My son had been right not to trust him and I'd abandoned him, mistaking his words of wisdom for words of a fearful child. Chang had used him for an experiment, injecting pure Xenothium into his system. Xenothium, an extremely reactive and unstable chemical known to kill any human being who comes into contact with it. However, according to Chang's studies, one out of fifty million people are able to control its energy and my son just happened to be a match. Nothing else about the extent of the damage it had done to him, nor any mention of side effects. I don't even remember my reaction once I'd read this. I guess it hadn't shocked me all that much. Chang had always been brilliant if not a little unstable. If only I'd realized it sooner but now it is too late.

It is here that my story draws to an end, however abrupt it may be. By now, you're probably wondering why I bothered to write this at all dear Reader. Why indeed. I hardly know myself. I suppose it's because time has made me feel nostalgic. Over these past few years, I've searched everywhere for him, abandoned my work, my friends, my life, if only to see him once more. Has he returned to wandering the streets alone? Is he alright? How has the Xenothium truly changed him? To this day, he remains on my mind suffocating me with every breath I take. To the person who now holds this note, I beg of you, I only ask one thing. Though the chances are slim if you ever come across him, please tell him to come home. My only wish is to see him again if only for a moment. To peer once more into his red eyes which speak louder than any word he's ever spoken. Be warned though, he has always been quite stubborn and acts a bit wicked at times, but with some persuasion he can be convinced. Until then, may the Lord watch over my son.

Red, such a simple color yet so complex, just like him…

"Whoa…"

"Dude…"

Cyborg lowered the note and laid it on the table next to him. He glanced back at his teammates who only continued to stare back at him in awe. He didn't blame them considering how shocked he was himself. Turning away, he looked back at the man who lay unmoving in the white sterile bed. An oxygen mask covered his face while an IV slowly dropped some kind of liquid into his veins. Cyborg only shook his head sadly at the sight.

For a few minutes, none of them spoke all looking back at the frail man. Eventually it was Robin who finally broke the silence. "That's quite the story there."

"Yeah, tell me about it man. I never knew the guy had a son. Didn't know him very well, only met him a couple times when he worked with my folks."

Robin nodded. "I understand."

"How long do you think he's got?" Cyborg asked slowly, gesturing to the sleeping man.

"Well, considering how bad the stroke was, I'd say it won't be long. The doctors said he hadn't been taking care of himself lately."

This time, Cyborg nodded in response. He didn't speak for a moment, trying to find the right way to ask what was on his mind. When he did speak, his voice came out quiet and slow. "And his son?"

Robin only shook his head. "I hate to say it, but he's probably dead. We don't know that much about what happened except for that note he wrote. Chances are the Xenothium probably killed the kid a while back considering how toxic it is. It's tragic but it's the most likely possibility."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking too…I just wish there was a way to help him somehow. He was a pretty nice guy."

"So, what are we to do?" Starfire asked.

"Nothing we can do, at least not tonight," Robin said glumly. "We can start investigating tomorrow but for now it's getting late. We should head back to the tower."

The rest of the Titans agreed solemnly, following their leader out the door. All left but Cyborg who took one last look at the dying figure on the hospital bed. What was once a forty-five year old proud, accomplished scientist was now an empty shell of his former self. The robotic teen found it hard to believe that one stroke was all it took to break such a man. Then again, from the note he'd left behind, it sounded as though he'd been broken down years ago. Cyborg shook his head sadly, turned around and left the room at last. "Rest peacefully Dr. Knight," he muttered.

The moment the door shut behind him, the man on the bed began to stir slightly, indicated only with a slight flutter of his eyes. The stroke had left him so frail that even such a simple task such as waking proved to be a challenge. But he managed. All around, the only sounds he could hear was the distant beeping of the heart rate machine and the light hiss of the oxygen tank helping him breath, and for while it remained this way. But then another noise caught his ear, a different sound that he'd never heard before. A swoosh that almost resembled the sound of the night wind. Focusing his eyes forward, standing before him was a tall figure draped in black, skin pale as a ghost in the dim moonlight. Beneath the oxygen mask, the dying man's mouth formed a slight smile as he looked upon the figure's face, a face he'd longed to see.

"Such a beautiful red…" he whispered weakly.

This was my attempt at a different writing style. If you're reading my other story HFWC, note that this has nothing to do with it. Wykkyd has a completely different back-story in that one. I just had this idea in my head for a while and wanted to get it down. Anyway, let me know what you guys think!

Reviews, comments, and criticisms are greatly appreciated!