Edited 8th May 2020.
All I could remember of my attempted suicide was eyes of deepest red. Those eyes had made the choice feel easy. It was hindsight and the consequences of my failed actions that would be unequivocally hard.
Since that night I had been frequently told by those in the business of psychoanalysis that red-eyed hallucinations were nothing more than deception. My mind was the maker of demons and their cruel eyes. So convinced were those of a higher intellect that I was hysterical, it would have been irrational not to doubt what I'd seen. I should forget what those dark eyes had made me feel. I could not and should not cling to the fragments of imaginings when my entire life, almost forfeited, was ahead of me.
And still, despite all reason, I wanted to reach out to my red-eyed devil to understand my past, my present and my purpose.
Never would I have guessed that it would be the arrival of the indigo-eyed boy that would change everything.