El Rojo

I am haunted by a curse.
It is called El Rojo by the soul when one sees the Muerte and Matanza. It is the depths of your certainty in wishing you had fallen that first time, and not gotten up to meet their fates. I see it everywhere. Surely, you do not. That is what turns my stomach the most. It is the knowledge of knowing that only you can think the things you do and no one will ever see what's in your mind. It is a scary, disconcerning thought that claws at you until you scream and fall on the floor and your only thought is that of El Rojo and how you cannot make it stop.
El rojo filtra interminable, esperando un silencio perfecto que no esté allí.