Consumption

I’m tired now, but it’s a good tired.
The tired you feel after a hard day’s work
—like a day spent cleaning the house
—or a long day laboring in the yard.
The tired you allow to take over as you wallow in the aftermath.
I’ll enjoy it when I get home, but first—
First I’ll wash it off.
The backwash of my labor.

I do not select the subjects of my vocation.
A higher power unveils them to me.
I’m not claiming the call comes from on High,
Just that the revealing power overcomes my own desires.
I did not choose this path.
I chose to stop resisting.

They come to me in colors.
Subtle shades at first, not abrasive to my vision.
Until I ignore them. Then they deepen,
and bleed.
When it reaches the point where the color consumes my skin, devours it,
I react.

I do not enjoy my work, but the accomplishment
—you’ll laugh—completes me.
You wonder why I tell you this.
I find it necessary to purge my soul.
Bleed out the consuming darkness.
Will the confession endanger me, you ask.
Oh, no. For you see, it won’t reach the light of day.

I do wonder, though.
Can you feel it?
Does the drenching of sapphire seep into your pores?
That’s your color you know.
It began as a pale azure.
Then deepened to the limpid hue of a cavernous lake,
Darkened to sapphire as it bled.
Already it is fading.
I can feel it rise from my skin as a form of evaporation.
It will eventually bleach from your being.
You’ll have moved on by then.

Will you share your answer with me?
I see.
You seek to deny me as a punishment of sorts for my actions.
Perhaps you misunderstand.
I live each day in punishment.
Possibly this knowledge will give you a final thrill.
The satisfaction of knowing at least one soul will remember you.
And suffer for knowing you.

The chance has passed.
The question remains.
Farewell Indigo.
I leave in search of rest and denial
Until again consumed by shades.
It is done.