I hadn't the slightest idea that I was bleeding until that is, a slight warm sensation started seeping beneath my eyelids. Instead of red entering my vision, which I expected and hoped, an undetermined amount of light started to emerge from the far corner of my eye. It was silver and blue. I really wanted it to be red: it was, after all, my favorite color. I didn't complain though. I couldn't complain. Words refused to form on my lips—it was completely and utterly hopeless. My jaw was trembling violently though, as if I were going through convulsions. I could only assume that my jaws were locked in some sort of shock and denied me all control of speech. The light soon started to fade as quickly as it came, suddenly turning my vision a color of bruised black.

Neon orange splotches pulsed through my vision now, like I had just toured the Las Vegas strip, and the bright lights had burned into the back of my eyes.

I'm dying…

"Rye? Rye!"

Quicksand was groping at my body, fingering my arms, my hips, my entire being. I was paralyzed in mind and body, merely succumbing to its will. The sand latched onto my clothes and skin like a discontented parasite, attempting to drain ever bit of life from me. I longed to wipe the sand from my eyes, but my hands were chained to the car door.

"Rye! I'm so sorry!"

Shaking the cuffs, I noticed that my wrists were raw and bleeding.

I need… out…

Lunging myself forward with all the strength I could muster, I threw myself against the air in effort of releasing myself from these chains. I managed to use the blood on my wrists as some sort of axle grease, loosening myself from the shackles. Slowly, inch by inch, they started to come free. The agony seared through my veins; I started to scream silently.

Castles made of sand, melt into the sea…

No.

Eventually…

No! Damn it! I hate those words!

"Rye?!" The words were echoing now, resonating off of indigo colored walls. They meant nothing to me anymore.

Rain started to drip from my hair.

There were never any shackles.

I saw red.

The quicksand —an illusion.

"Please forgive me, Rye…"

I could see little, but what I could see was dark. There was a human figure standing over me, checking me over like some damn patient. I knew him from school. It was Khaos. Chaos with a 'k'.