Erythrophobia

When I was in elementary school and my teachers would force me to share my worst fears with the class, I always answered "red".

No, I'm not afraid of blood. That would be stupid, because to be afraid of blood would be to be afraid of something that's allowing me to breath right now.

No, I'm not afraid of the terrible weather predicted by tacky radars. That would be irresponsible. Weather is inevitable and weathermen are always wrong.

No, I'm not afraid of makeup. That would be ridiculous. I don't even wear make up.

No, I'm not afraid of roses. That would be useless. Roses come in all sorts of colors, despite what fairytales wish to believe.

No, I'm not afraid of sunsets. That would just be plain dumb. What have sunsets ever done to me besides inspire?

No, I'm not afraid of stop signs. That would be strange. Stop signs save the lives of anyone who bothers to read them.

But yes, I'm afraid of red, and that's what I said.

But what always stumped me, what always silenced my soul into deep thought and confusion, was when they asked the simple question, "Why?"

I never had an answer.