Red

The following short story depicts a young woman's past, and her endeavor to escape it using merely a brush and some paint.

 

I brushed long strokes of red down the side of the cabin. It was a soft summer evening, and the haze that set over the field put me in the pleasantest of moods. I had lived out in the field on my own for several years now, and it seemed about time for a change. As the scarlet shade hid the work of my father from so many years ago I felt a sense of calm. I could not tell you why I had chosen to stay in the house of my abuser, but he had long since been dead. The jugs of his homemade brew still sat on the shelves, though he had managed to empty more in his lifetime than what was left. Many nights father would go out drinking and in the wee hours of the morning, I would be awoken by a slam of the door and the loosening of a belt buckle.

I rather liked red. I suppose it was the colour of anger, but the ruby shade calmed me and made my imagination writhe in twists and turns only I could navigate. I realize my compass had never truly pointed north, but I enjoyed the transformation taking place at the work of my hands. “Mother would be so proud”, I thought to myself. Mother had left this world mere seconds before I had entered it. For this, I never blamed my father for his cruelty, but I could most certainly never forget. Or at least that is what I had thought before I had taken to the brush. As I dipped the brush into the paint once more, a tiny fleck leaped onto my skin. How marvelous it looked. I fancied myself another speckle of red. And another, until I took the brush in hand and glided its fibers down the length of my arms and legs. With every drop, I could feel the days of fear and violence disappearing, and I could no longer contain myself. I tore away my dress and emptied the paint over my head to the very last drop. I let out a cry and, with every echo I could hear my joy increasing. I stood there in the field, stark naked, save for the red cloak that now adorned my free spirit. I danced in the summer haze, my hair matted to my face in a tangle of red, and scarlet sanctuary on every inch of my person. What bliss I felt. Who else would know freedom such as this? I reveled in paradise for a few moments more, but in the east I saw great thundering clouds fast approaching. With a clap of thunder and a crack of light, the rains came. I ran in the direction of the cabin, but it was too late. The rain had washed away any remnant of red that had covered my flesh. I was now left staring at my pale skin and the few strokes I had managed on the south side of the cabin. I fell to my knees and began to weep. My angel of red had abandoned me, and there was no more paint to be had.

Author's Note

I do not intend for the content of this passage to be made sense of. Simply envision.