All was red. The fire was red. The moon was red. The stones were red. The sand was red. His hands were sticky with blood. And he loved it.

He felt like he belonged in screams of terror and pain because they drowned out his own, echoing in his heart. They had taken everything from him. Everyone. Since that day, he had been only pain, rage and anger. He had nurtured them so he was able to unleash them ten times worse on those who had robbed him of everything else.

Only on the battlefield was he whole again. Every breath was iron, dust and rot. His body was strong. His sweat was saltier than his tears. His mind had become one with war. It was all he had left and he embraced it. He lived for blood. He lived for death. And his whole life was made of red.

He thought red would stain him until his end. Covered in blood, guts and dust. He would finally become one with the sand he had soaked with his enemies’ blood. And when this day finally comes, he was sure to die with a smile on his face. And he would scowl Death for making him wait, for there was nothing he wished more than to be reunited once more with the ones he had lost.

But then Death came in the person of just another young one trained for war. Nameless, fearless, invisible. And his eyes were black. When he had stared into those empty eyes, he felt his heart stop as if he had already died. He searched for a sign, a passage, a light that would guide him in the great beyond. But he found nothing. Nothing but blackness. No one was waiting for him in Death. They had all gone, like he was about to. And there would be no one left.

In this moment, Yassine did not smile as he thought he would. He cried as he was dying like he had when he was born. For he knew it was the only thing left for him to do now. He cried for his mother's embrace, he cried for his father’s songs, he cried for his brother’s laugh. He cried because he knew their memory and all that was left of them would die once more with him.

He wished he would’ve realized it sooner. He wished he would’ve cried more. Instead of devoting his life to vengeance and war, he wished he had cherished their memory and honored their legacy. He wished as a last hommage that he was able to remember them with a smile rather than tears. But it was too late now. And black had slowly took over red.