《Why is Red the Colour of Love, Sex, and Murder?》


 Prologue

    A humble house among the tall pine trees.


    Although it stands above the other homes in the area, at two stories high, it is a modest Georgian Revival style with a grey exterior.


    All the homes on that street were built in the early 80¡¯s, but our house was noticeably the cleanest by far; my mother was adamant on hiring groundskeepers to ensure our home never fell to the same rusty exterior as our neighbours.


    But we lived in a city where it would rain seventy percent of the time, so the fantasy of keeping a clean home was just that.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    A fantasy.


    Much like our neighbours, we¡¯d have dinner at six in the afternoon. By then I¡¯d be back from university, father from the firm, mom would from her studio in time to make dinner, and my sister would be back from her after school volleyball practice.


    And much like our neighbours, we were quiet and normal. A family of four: kind and well respected.


    What differed from our neighbours was what we ate for our six past morning dinner.


    To be blunt, my family would eat humans.


    Cannibalism.


    There¡¯s a local butcher by the pier on the west side of town who gives us each day our daily meat.


    My father and him go way back...

 Father Once Told Me...

    They both lived in Seattle when they were younger, but my father moved away with his family and they lost contact for a while.


    They were connected by an invisible string that worked to draw them back together once again, or at least that¡¯s why my father says.


    The next time they saw saw each other was in an orgy twelve years later when they realized they were fucking the same person.


    They shook hands, asked about each others parents, and inquired about how things were at home.


    Just small talk.


    After their reunion, they were inseparable. They found out that the whole time they¡¯d actually been attending the same university in Vancouver. Later, the two of them ended up getting a place together to save up on costs. During this time, they¡¯d share everything about themselves¡­ including their fantasies:Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    My father about eating people and the now butcher, then student, about murder.


    The perfect friendship, one could say.


    One kills, the other rids of the evidence by consumption.


    When my father had to leave Vancouver to attend the law program in McGill for his graduate, his friend was very displeased.


    The night of my father¡¯s flight, his friend impulsively murdered a girl who went to the same philosophy class as them, out of anguish. He called my father and begged him not to leave, so my father met him one last time.


    He saw his friend covered in the girls blood sitting on my fathers bed. The girl laying by his feet.


    My father never told me what happened after, but I recall a look of sweet nostalgia on his face.


    When my father left for his flight, he told his friend to butcher her and store her parts in the basement freezer, making sure to put it under the other food items, and ensuring that the pieces of the girl were so perfectly cut, so as to make it almost indistinguishable from normal meat.


    Once my father settled into his new apartment in Montreal, he took a quick trip back to Vancouver, got there by noon, had dinner with his friend by six, and left the same night.


    That was the first time my father ate another human.

 Father Once Told Me... Pt.2

    In his new apartment building there was a woman next door my fathers¡¯ suite that was attending the art program at McGill.


    She¡¯s now my mother.


    The two of them didn¡¯t start on good terms; they¡¯d often file noise complaints to the manager regarding the other. Mother would turn up her music whenever she was painting, sometimes for a continuous twelve hours a day. Father would have loud intercourse with those he brought back at night, which was almost every other night.


    Fair to say they hated each other. Each saw a trait they despise in humans in one another. She would see lust in him, and he would see sloth in her.


    One day, my father attended the school¡¯s student run art exhibition. That was when he saw her for the first time. When he really saw her for who she was.


    He realized that all those hours of loud music were not a sign of her lazing around all day, doing nothing but painting. Rather those hours were symbolic of when she was relaying her soul onto her canvas.


    My father was gawking at her painting for so long that she noticed him and approached. She told me that had she expected him to laugh or criticize, instead he stood there speechless and in awe. That was when she saw him.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    My father describes her painting as the embodiment of human nature and our inner desires; she depicted a god-like figure consuming its human creations. But god was not cloaked in light, he, much like Lucifer, was shrouded in darkness. The madness of his creation had led to their inevitable destruction by his hands. God cried because he was the cause of their madness, god cried because he knew he had to be the one to take away their misery. He had to take matters into his own hands and end it.


    They ended up getting engaged while they were still students and moved to Vancouver once they graduated.


    My father¡¯s friend from Seattle and Vancouver who murdered that philosophy class girl, was now a butcher. While in McGill, they were in little contact, so when my father returned he decided to surprise his friend.


    During this visit, they spoke for hours upon hours. His friend expressed his need to kill once again, and my father, his need to eat again. So they started to plan another supper. When my father told his friend that he wishes to have his fianc¨¦ involved, his friend was hesitant.


    I don¡¯t know what led up to the next hunt and feast, I only know that mother acted as the bait. I also know that the butcher prepared the new meat and my father cooked that night for his fianc¨¦ and friend.


    Skip forward a few hunts and a couple years, and I was born. And three years later, my little sister was born. The two of us had always been close, we went to the same elementary school where I¡¯d look out for her and make sure she was safe from others. But when I was younger, I was somewhat of a deviant.


    My sister and I were very close¡­


    It is for that reason that my parents later put her into a private high school for girls, and me into a private school for boys.

 You Know That Feeling When U See Someone, and Ur Like: Wow I Just Gotta Know You? Yeah? Well Me Too…

    On my tenth birthday, my parents decided to let my sister and I have our first human meal. I couldn¡¯t tell that it was any different from the other meat we¡¯ve had; it honestly tasted like pork. They told me afterwards what they had fed us, and implored me to not tell my sister, since it could upset her.


    They probably expected for me to freak out, but I was well composed and indifferent.


    A few years prior to that day, I spent some time with the butcher and he told me all about it in a friendly matter. They didn¡¯t know that I already well informed.


    I promised them I wouldn¡¯t tell my sister until the time they thought she was ready, but I came up with the condition that I had to be the one to tell her, so that I could be there to comfort her.


    Three years later, my sister turned ten and it was time for her to know. Even though I kept my promise to not tell her, they did not keep up their end of the deal. I was not the one to inform her.


    We started drifting even further apart.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Since I went to an all boys¡¯ school, I didn¡¯t have much interaction with girls. Let me rephrase: I didn¡¯t have much interaction with girls while at school.


    My friends and I would meet up with girls from the all girl catholic school nearby. I would tell my parents I¡¯m studying in the library for my provincial exams, but what I was actually doing were mushrooms. We¡¯d all go to my friend¡¯s house and hallucinate for hours. Eventually this was too regular of a hobby that was no longer exciting for us, so we switched over to LSD.


    Graduation day was soon approaching and I had stopped part taking in the drug gatherings and started focusing on bringing up my marks even more, since I wanted to go to the same university my father went to for his undergrad.


    I got in.


    On orientation day I was extremely bored with what was happening so I strayed off from the crowd and went on my own to discover the campus. It was too big; I instantly knew that I was going to get lost frequently.


    And that¡¯s exactly what happened:


    On my way to my first chemistry lab I got extremely los, but I wasn¡¯t the only one, there was also a girl.


    The girl.


    Unlike my parents¡¯ initial feelings of distain towards each other, this girl and I instantly were infatuated with one another.


    We ended up skipping chemistry lab all together and went back to her dorm. Some time passed and then it was time for our philosophy lecture. We skipped out on that too. Instead, we spoke all night of our own ideas of philosophy.


    Morning came and I went home.

 Extra Chapter: That One Time I Had A Certain Trip On Shrooms

    There was a small gathering at my friend¡¯s house out in the suburbs. His family had gone on a trip to Whistler while we stayed at his place tripping. I hadn¡¯t had anything to eat that day and the shrooms hit hard.


    My trip started with auditory hallucinations.


    I suddenly heard a thumping electronic base buzzing in the back of my head. It was probably my own heartbeat echoing in my ears. As the sound got louder and reached its climax, I heard a bloodcurdling scream coming from my friend¡¯s kitchen. Doing a quick head count, I noticed that everyone that was in the house was present in the living room; who could have been in the kitchen?


    While I was trying to figure out who was screaming, the voice from the kitchen started yelling for help, screaming:


    ¡°PLEASE I CUT MYSELF, PLEASE CALL 911!¡±


    I realized it was the voice of my sister.


    My body was paralyzed and I couldn¡¯t move a muscle, only my eyes could move around in their dry sockets. I couldn¡¯t even blink.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The screams grew faint but my heart was still beating frantically.


    Then the visuals kicked in. While I was still paralyzed in my seat, the room started to spin and gradually turn a royal blue colour, as if someone had placed blue colour gels on all the lights and windows. Once the room had turned blue, the music in my head changed.


    Instead of its rhythmic beat and electronic sound, it was robotic and it had a sort of bouncy underwater base to it with a high pitch frequency playing in the background. In the room walked in some half fish people: top half fish, lower half woman. They were in fish net stockings and knee high leather boots. In their hands they held oval mirrors as trays, and on them were glasses filled with absinthe. They distributed a glass to each of us with a sugar cube on top already dissolved.


    Before I took a swig of the cup, I looked deep into the green liquid and saw myself reflected on its surface. My image looked back at me with hatred. His mouth was moving as if he was lecturing me, but I couldn¡¯t hear what he was saying, only the music getting louder and louder. I was too scared to drink it, fearing that I would be erasing my physical existence if I were to swallow my reflection in the cup. I set my cup aside and looked up at the others.


    It was then that I realized that everyone else in the room was experiencing the same trip, since they had all accepted the glasses of absinthe from the fish woman while bug eyed.


    My one friend, after taking a sip of the absinthe, that may or may not have actually been real, started bashing his head into the wall. Over and over, and over again until the wall had a hole in it and his head was bleeding non-stop. He then took off his shoe and started swatting imaginary bugs around him while speaking in tongues.


    We later covered this hole with a framed family photo; his parents thought it was a nice touch to the living room.


    Eventually the whole room was filled with top-half animal women: half cobra, half deer, half wolf¡­ You name it. One of the hybrid women came in the room with another round of absinthe and just as I built up the courage to grab another glass, I black out.


    I later found out the shrooms were laced with PCP.

 This Makes Me Think Of That One Marilyn Manson Song: Valentines Day

    I walked up the front porch of our grey house and saw my sister quietly opening the front door. We were both out during the night.


    I walked by her and swung open the door, without worrying about being too loud. Looking behind me, I saw her face turn red with anger. Down the stairs came our parents. And up the stairs my sister went¡­ For the next few weeks she was grounded.


    I also got an earful but since I¡¯m older, the consequences were milder for me.


    For the entirety of that first semester, the girl and I would spend every second of it together. She made me feel amazing. Human. Sane. Normal even.


    But when I was back home feasting on human flesh I felt like a fucking monster.


    I originally had no desire to stop eating humans, I was indifferent, but that started to change with her.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    My indifference turned into hatred.


    I didn¡¯t want to upset my parents, so I made sure that they knew that just because I didn¡¯t eat humans anymore that didn¡¯t mean that I judged them for what they do. That doesn¡¯t mean I will tell anyone.


    They told me to not tell my little sister about my new dietary plans. I told them I wouldn¡¯t.


    The next semester came along, and again the girl and I were in the same classes.


    We grew closer to each other.


    We were inseparable.


    I changed for her. I gave up cannibalism for her.


    I did think I was indifferent towards cannibalism, but it turned out that my hunger for flesh was insatiable.


    Human flesh is the worst drug I¡¯ve ever taken:


    It would speak to me in my dreams;


    tempt me in my thoughts,


    I couldn¡¯t shake it off.


    I thought the only way I could get over it is by telling the girl. I had to. I was feeling guilt and hunger at the same time and I had to get rid of at least one of those miserable feelings.


    On Valentines day I set up candles in her dorm. Brought her some flowers and cooked her pasta. It was vegetarian.


    She was charmed. I was starting to feel confident, but I still had a disgusting feeling in my stomach. All the ¡°what ifs¡± flooded into my head. Noticing my discomfort, she put her hand on my head, brushing through my hair with her slender fingers. Kissed my cheek and asked me what¡¯s wrong.


    ¡°I eat humans.


    ¡­well, used to.¡±

 How To Tell Your Loved Ones That Youre a Recovering Cannibal

    I looked at her lips turn from a loving and considerate smile to being downturned, emitting a look of confusion and betrayal.


    She was the girl. And I knew that to her I was the boy.


    I love her unconditionally. She loved me unconditionally.


    She started nodding in slow acceptance, only saying the word ¡°okay¡± under each breath. A drop of her tear fell onto my cheek, right where she kissed me.


    She then started crying non-stop. I couldn¡¯t calm her down.


    I kept apologizing.


    I''m sorry.


    I''m sorry.


    I know, Im a monster.


    I''m sorry.


    But she kept crying and crying and crying. I felt too nervous and I ran out the room like a coward. I threw up into the trashcan outside her room in the hallway. My heart was pounding violently, my palms were incredibly sweaty, and with every step I felt heavier and heavier.


    Oh you grey carpeted floor, why wont you open up and accept me? Let me into you? Let me disappear from this world and melt into your fibers?The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I ran. I ran out the dorms. Ran onto the street with my tears being swept off my face by the wind. I ran until it started raining. Eventually I was unable to tell if I was crying or if it was just the rain. Melodramatic, I know.


    The rest is kind of hazy for me, I did eventually find my way home somehow, but my sister said I came back in a trace like state. I stayed home for the next week in my bedroom. My sister would sometimes talk to me from the other side of the wall. She¡¯d tell me to unlock the door and let mom and dad in.


    The whole time I was face down on my bed, in a puddle of my own tears.


    On the seventh night, I heard a tap on my window. Another tap. And another.


    I looked outside for the first time in a week and saw pitch-blackness. But in the dense darkness, she was there with small stones in her hand. The girl was outside my window, even after everything.


    I ran to the door downstairs, past the dining table where my family was eating dinner. I opened the door and embraced her in my arms, and she embraced me. My father had followed me and asked what was wrong. I instinctually held her behind me, and told him that I was going out for a bit.


    If they found out¡­


    If my family of cannibals found out that I told her¡­


    Not only was I not eating humans, but I had also exposed our secret to what they would see as an outsider.


    We ended up at a Denny¡¯s.


    Me in the same clothes from when she last saw me.


    She in the same clothes as when I last saw her.


    We ordered waffles and talked while we ate. I tried to answer all her questions the best I could. She tried to accept me the best she could.


    ¡°So, you don¡¯t anymore¡­ right?¡±


    This was her last question of the night. I assured her, no.


    That night when I got home, I slept, I dreamed, I felt vivid. My body felt real.


    The next day I expected to be bombarded with questions from my parents, but they weren¡¯t even home. Neither was my sister.


    I washed up and went to the school library to study for my upcoming finals.


    The girl and I spent the rest of the semester back in each other¡¯s arms again. I did feel that she was slightly more conscious of me, but that¡¯s only normal I suppose. I mean there is no guide on how to tell your girlfriend about your cannibalistic past.


    Everything was peaceful and quiet, temporarily

 Eight Deadly Sins

    For a while I didn¡¯t have nightmares.


    For a while¡­


    They reemerged around the time my parents decided to go on vacation, and my sister decided to throw a party in our humble house in the forest.


    I hadn¡¯t been around so much noise, drinking and drugs for over a year now but since I was done with my exams, I didn¡¯t mind the loudness. It was a nice change of pace.


    I spent the night in my room writing until the party ended and her friends had left.


    My sister started cleaning up and I went downstairs to help her.


    To say the least, she was extremely fucked up.


    Probably from blow.


    The house returned to its normal silence; the only sound u can hear is of the empty cans hitting each other in the black trash bags.


    She broke the silence.


    ¡°I know you stopped. I¡¯m not stupid.¡±


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    I said nothing, pretending I didn¡¯t know exactly what she was talking about.


    ¡°I tried going down that non cannibalistic route, it doesn¡¯t work. Once you¡¯ve had human, you can never look at people the same. All I can see them as live stock now¡­


    But you?


    You¡¯re doing fine and I bet it¡¯s because of that girl, huh?¡±


    Again, nothing.


    My silence irritates her, so throws the bag on the floor and leaves the kitchen. When I go to pick up her bag, she comes back, grabs my arm, and drags me towards the basement. I knew she was going to take me to the freezer.


    I can¡¯t stand going in there. I told her to stop. I didn¡¯t want to go down. I felt like I was descending into hell itself. Into madness.


    She kept pulling me. I couldn¡¯t make her let go, and I started shaking and sweating feverishly. She opened the freezer door and stuck my head in it:


    ¡° LOOK! This! this right here.. this is who you are. You can pretend to be happy and normal, but you will never be normal. You can¡¯t ever be like other people. You are a monster like me! Like the rest of us!¡±


    Before me, displayed like trophies, were the carefully packaged slices of human meat.


    She loosened her grip and I pulled away my arm, I went back up the stairs staggering.


    If my life was a movie, this is the scene where the director rigs a camera to my chest and gets a wobbly shot of the protagonist walking in despair. The lens focusing in on each individual sweat drop dripping off the tip of my nose. Capturing my translucent skin draped across my flesh and bones with my red and blue veins peaking through.


    The night ended with me trying to go to sleep. Eventually I did, but couldn¡¯t stop having nightmares from that night on. It was one after another, after another. After another.


    Now I¡¯m back to square one: hungry, and full of guilt.


    The hungers always been there, but the guilt had stopped for a while.


    From that day on when I woke up, I felt like bits of me crumbled onto the floor with every step. Each day would chip at my being little by little.


    It was as if being alive was a sin.


    If my father is lust, my mother is sloth, my sister is envy, then I am the 8th sin: The sin of being created in the first place.


    The sin of being born mad.

 This Is The End

    On the twelfth day of my continuous nightmare, I went to her.


    This whole time I had been avoiding her, scared of her and how she¡¯d react to seeing me in my troubled state.


    But, she had once accepted me before, so there¡¯s no need for me to be scared of her¡­ right?


    I softly knock on her door and she opens it with a look of surprise. At this point, we had been together non-stop for a year, so this twelve-day break was very long for us. Even longer than when she found out about my cannibalistic past.


    She instantly wrapped her arms around me in a close embrace, running her fingers gently through my hair.


    She sat me down on her bed and said,


    ¡°Have you been starving yourself, you look like a skeleton!¡±


    I tried to open my mouth and tell her I haven¡¯t had an appetite, but my mouth was too dry. She noticed this and got up to get me water and some food.


    I tried to eat, I really did, but I couldn¡¯t keep it in. I felt nauseous.


    She continued encouraging me to eat, but I only ended up gagging with every bite.


    I tried to hold back my gagging, but soon this turned into coughing. I went over to her desk where she gently placed the glass of water, but I started coughing even more and even stumbled onto the floor. I was grasping for anything stable nearby as I was falling, instead I swiped all her belongings off the table onto the floor next to me. I reached up for the water with my weak arms, but she brought it over to me. Her eyes were full of warm concern.


    I sipped on the water slowly, swallowing it drop by drop.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    She started to clean up the mess I made, rearranging her belongings back onto the appropriate spots on her desk.


    Her pencil case on the back left corner,


    Her phone on the right side where it¡¯s closest to the outlet.


    I felt bad that she had to clean up after me so I too helped her pick up her things.


    Her pencils, into her UBC mug.


    Her ruler, on the table behind the mug.


    Calculator, next to her phone, on top of her math homework.


    The scissors, into her neck, right into her artery.


    Her scissors?


    And I wept: ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± over and over and over again.


    I really am a helpless fool: how much pain must I cause her? How many times must I beg for unearned forgiveness?


    She looked at me with her eyes widened, and blood pooling in her mouth.


    In that moment I remembered the time when I was younger when I visited the Niagara Falls. Everyone claims that it¡¯s the most beautiful waterfall in the world. Even as a child I felt that claim was an overstatement; surely this Canadian fall cant be the best in the word; there must be something else for these was something missing from its scenery.


    Now I realize that the missing component was it¡¯s incorrect colour.


    Now I think I¡¯ve seen the most beautiful waterfall in the world and it¡¯s oh so close to me.


    She flows so gloriously before my eyes as if it were in slow motion. The deep red tone of her blood would at times, perfectly reflect the light from her lamp, making it look like it were sparkling.


    She made the mistake of pulling the scissors out of her neck; this only made her blood flow more rapidly down her neck. It never stopped. I held onto her wound, trying to keep pressure on it, but I was conflicted by the desire to watch it continue cascading.


    She couldn¡¯t say a word to me, but all I could say to her was sorry. I cried. She also started crying. She put her hand on my head, stroking my hair again. She tried to smile, for me.


    I was the boy for her; the boy that would be the inevitable end of her.


    I continued crying as I leaned over to kiss her.


    I had no strength in my legs to go get help, and no power in my voice to yell.


    She didn¡¯t try to struggle.


    She stayed with me until the end with her warm smile.


    I tasted her blood on my lips, as residue from our kiss. She was slowly starting to fade; her warm smile was losing its warmth. I too, started to fade out.


    I went to kiss her again but instead I took a bite out of her lower lip. A chunk of her flesh fell into my mouth after an elastic pull.


    She continued to smile as I continued to consume her raw.


    Bit by bit, she was becoming a part of me.


    I continued cathartic feast throughout the night and into the next morning.


    Her friend next door came in looking for her since she missed her class.


    She described the scene to the police as if gore itself was personified.


    Blood splattered on the walls.


    The carpet soaked crimson.


    Bits of her flesh missing.


    And me.


    Still crying.


    Covered in her blood.


    Holding her in my arms as I took bites out of her being.


    I was right¡­ I never needed to be scared of her in the first place.


    I should¡¯ve been scared of myself.