Notes: A soul contemplates the color red and what it represents to her while resting in the world beyond life. Probably the shortest YWT fic I've ever written.^_^

All standard disclaimers apply, you know the drill.

The color of a fragrant rose. The color of blood. The color of fury. The color of love. This just might be the color with the greatest amount of connotations. But red reminds me of something else Iíll bet most living people wonít think ofónot that itís their fault, of course.

Red is the color of that angelís eyes.

I donít think he really is an angel in the truest sense of the word, but mom had always said angels were beings who helped others, and he helped me, so I think of him as an angel. Itís a private whim of mine to pretend he is my guardian angel, though I know better than that. I know he takes care of more than the one puny little soul that is me.

I think most people who are afraid of him insistóif they ever lived long enough to insistóthat his eyes are a blood red, glittering malevolently in his ghostly pale face. They say those red eyes are signs of his cruelty. At least, thatís what Iíve heard from some of the voices around me; the angry and bitter whispers of the guilty.

For my part, I can never see what they claim. For to me his eyes are like rubies, or perhaps two deep crimson stars that twinkle in the sable night sky, deep and inscrutable and awesome. But that is most likely because Iím not guilty. Iím one of the many heís helped, and whose lives were changed for the better because I met him.

The others who fear him, sprinkled here and there around me. . . they had been thrwarted by him, despite whatever guiles and cunning they used in their lives. They hate him and fear him, and his crimson gaze had bore into their hearts like daggers, piercing through their evils and their false innocence.

No wonder they insist his eyes are the color of blood.

But unlike those people, he does not frighten me. My memory of him. . .dimmed, except for his vivid ruby-red eyes. . .remains a beautiful one. How strange that, despite meeting him for an incredibly short amount of time, I felt as if he were the one person who really tried to understand what I was saying. And yet I never got a chance to thank him. It had been too bewildering, too strange, for me to say much but what he asked me to say.

Now that I have plenty of time to think about my encounter with him, I realize that there were so many things I wanted to ask, so many questions he mightíve answered. But Iíve lost my chance. After all, I suppose souls can only talk to him once, and Iíd hate to bother him, since Iím sure he has lots of work to do.

Itís all thanks to him that I can now rest in peace. My life, now that I look back on it, was very satisfying. I canít say I was overjoyed to see it end, but at least someone was there to make it bearable. . .someone was there to listen, and help set everything right again.

I know you canít hear me all the way in that room, but I want to say thank you. Thatís really not enough, after all youíve done for me. . . But thank you, the boy with the ruby-red eyes.

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