When your red day comes, don’t be afraid. Or, be afraid but not only afraid. Be sanguine. Your time has always been running out of blood.
Be angry? Why not?! That will be your you complaining once more, and good for it. So wbat if outrage is late, ineffectual, pitiable? At least it’s a kick against inevitability’s brown cliff.
Terror? Most likely. A red tidal wave of fear, shaking you, taking you, taking all.
Breathe in last red breaths of surviving, remember some of the good you did, know regrets will go as you go, away. For it’s a clean sweep on your red day. Even the sky goes, and the sun—down, down, past sunset, on down to Nothing Town, where red original numbers and indecipherable symbols are warehoused.