Black.
An interesting color.
It is the one usually used when referring to crimes. Black episodes, black chronicle of such a city. Claptrap. Death has no color. Although perhaps black refers to the blackout that accompanies the last breath. A fade to an absolute black. The darkness that ensues.

In any case, I’m more of a red person.
An intense red, a crimson red, emanating life.
I also like purple and, even more, the irreverent purple, that shade that acquires the skin after a strong impact taking with it any trace of health.
To each his own, isn’t that what they say?

The fact is that I think in tonalities while I see how my last victim bleeds to death. What ravings the human mind has! Surely they could be investing my time better right now.
I get dizzy. I know because I don’t seem to focus properly, as if everything around me has started an almost invisible dance. My arm strength is gone, I’m overcome with sluggishness.

I move a little closer to the mirror. And there is also the white. The pallor invades me.
I take the opportunity to write with my own blood a message on the mirror.
«I killed them all».
And the fade is total.

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