" (Y/n)... you foolish woman, as stubborn as they come."
"Am I the real fool here Suoh? Because your violence seems to say otherwise."
"Hmm... Says the one who foolishly woke me up...Vile woman."
"Ah! Mikoto!" "Hush up, I've got no plans, let me hol...
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Red, The color that means one hundred words committed to the element of fire. Passion, violence, wrath, heat, love, inferno.
The red I've seen since I was young, a mere little girl with (h/c) pigtails. I met the definition of red on that fateful day when I was six. I was drawing with crayons, making a picture for my mother's refrigerator.
When this boy marched up to me. "Hey brat! the red, orange, and yellow crayons! Give them now or you'll regret it!" He demanded. Must've looked like he held me at scissor point from how frightened I looked. Those amber eyes burned with rage.
What did I do to make him so infuriated?
But I dare not say those words aloud, lest he explode my brains with the look that could kill. I watched him return to his friend table, which by the way was the grade's group of bullies. They did anything under the sun that they could get away with. Throw rocks, kick you off the play equipment, throw dirt, rip art apart, push, put boogers in girls' hair, and steal your snacks.
"Here dummy." He said, startling me. How did he get over here without me hearing him?! He threw a paper ball at my head, then stormed back to his table. When I opened it, I looked in surprise at his illustration. A comic of sorts, about how I get eaten by a lion and he beats it up, then pulls me out of the lion's mouth. I couldn't help but giggle, and put it in my folder.
"She loved my drawing."
"Mikoto...How you never had changed..." I whispered to the wind, the rain drops pitter patter on the window, making the apartment look warmer than the summer pour. I returned my stare down on the poorly drawn comic in my clutch. How did I know that he drew a lion? Looks like a crazed ginger hobo on all fours now.
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