They say that crimson is the color of blood, the definition of death and despair and while they are right they are also wrong at the same time. The color that seems to stain the hands of all throughout history, crimson is a versAtle color. in the hands of the angry and the vengeful it is the color of death, the bringer of truth and the evidence of pain, but in the hands of the just it is the color of life, the fire that flickers within each of us, the crimson color that runs through our veins and beats in our chest. Crimson is the color of passion, and whether that passion is used for good or for evil is up to the individual.

Every tyrant begins their rule with crimson, the blood spilled with the forceful overtake of the throne. The blood may both be physical and psychological. The definition of passion, a tyrant will spill the blood of those opposed to him and also offer up his own blood, giving his lifeblood over to the goal of attaining kinghood. What does a tyrant do but to highlight the color red not only through the blood he spills but through his entire devotion towards achieving his goals? A double edged sword, red both destroys and brings about new eras. But every tyrant ends with red too, with the vial filled with poison that will seep away the fire flickering or with a sword dipped in the red of the tyrant's blood. Hamlet, Laertes, Claudius all were bathed in red in the end and it is the same crimson flames that motivated the tyrant that may end their reign, and ultimately bring peace to the world.

In another part of History we see individuals bathed in a different kind of red. Prowling along the red light districts they seem to be looking for something in the night time, a fuse of some sort to be lit. Their Red is different from those of the King, not a determination or a blood lust as much as a haze for humanly contact. Ruled by passion, they take their time scouring streets for the perfect individaual to take home, picking their poison from a number of cocktails and concotions, searching for the perfect night that they would merely remember in the moning in the dull content haze of a dream. But even in the darkness of this red lust there is another type of red, of a lonely individual searching for someone that they can call their own. These individuals crave to see the world in more than red, finally freeing themselves from the dull ache of a heart that begs to be loved. Where there is the passion of lust there is the passion of love, a softer color red but as strong as ever, perhaps the strongest of all as all other shades of red follow it. How much blood has been spilled due to love? No one may ever know, but one cannot deny the allure of this red. Everyone, chases after this brilliant shade.

And from history we dance yet again to the present where red still dominates our lives. Whether we prowl for glory, success, or love red dominates our lives, another color that cannot but pushed away, but must be accepted. We deal with red on a daily basis, a girl desperately forcing herself to read just another chapter and study for just another hour because the determination shades her eyes the faintest red, because the fire flickering within her tells her she can achieve what she wishes for. A man angry with the world, seeing red spots from the turmultuous fight he had with his wife over what she claims to be a silly dream, but where she sees nothing he sees stars bathed in red, calling him to reach forward and nab them. A woman at a bar, desperately wondering if she should have another drinK but deciding not to, because that would be her undoing and she already had someone waiting for her at home.

Park Jimin, Me, We, are all these shades of red. And what a beautiful color crimson is.