The hues of Red

Chapter -1

Entry-1

Tragedies are part of life. But what happens when you only remember your life by the worst moments you experienced. Or what happens when your mind retains the negative thoughts so carefully that you forget what life was or is to you. Depression is just a word with such a morbid feel to it that it's talked about as a taboo. 

"What was that?", asked Lenah. "What was what?", I replied trying to hide the obvious melancholy in my voice. 

"You talked about it like you lived it."

"I have such a peaceful life. Don't get any ideas. I wouldn't change it for anything."

Lenah has been an acquaintance for a while now. I don't know why I don't call him a friend. He cares and communicates like a person who is close to you does. Whenever you need him, he's there. The way he voices his concerns without hesitation or fear of judgement is remarkable. I have always loved that about him. His vulnerability resembles the wildflowers. Open to the world, full of life, moving with the breeze. There's a certain spring to his step with humility that grounds him. Sounds perfect. Well, he is perfect. Am I jealous? Mehh.

The sky is blue like it always is. Shining brightly, passionately. Burning, yet illuminating. There's a certain chill in the air today. Wonder why. The weather has always been bright and sunny. Neither too hot nor too cold. The weather where you can wear a frill skirt and dance about with the wind or like the breeze that softly grazes your skin with incredible softness. The clouds move about slowly. Their pace, glacial as always. Soft cotton bulbs you can lend to wipe down the blood that overflows your cracks. It formed a blooming flower on my skirt gradually spreading through the threads of the skirt that I wore. The colour, getting fainter every passing thread and...

''The tape rewinds. Erases the last few sentences and begins recording again.''

Soft cotton bulbs you can lend to make dandelions from. You can round them up, pluck down a piece and extend it from the bottom to form a stem and there's your dandelion with more bud count than any other.  

The bell rings as the front door opens. The shop is illuminated by yellow bulbs giving it a classic, vintage touch. The sombre expressions of customers set a good tone for the store. The books they read defined life as horrific as letting your limbs torn apart. 

Lenah went sat in the back reading his copy. He seldom looked towards me. But I couldn't take my eyes off him. The way his eyes bulged at the thought of what was written in the copies made my hair stand on end. I loved the feeling of dread being forced into our mind. It was so exciting. I felt drawn to him, wanting to discuss on the topics he just gulped down. I put down my binder and casually strolled towards him down the isle. 

"So??? Do you like it??", I asked with spilling excitement in my voice. His pale, fear stricken countenance was not hard to discern. His voice was raspy from him being breathless during his readings. He spoke in a husky tone. 

"Jane!!! This was wild. The emotions, such diverse emotions. I didn't know people were capable of feeling so much and to such extent and with such intensity. The words transform into pictures and I feel like I just was in this movie that was playing before my eyes. The copies today are fantastic. Wonder what tomorrow will be about."

"I wonder too."

I step back and take out a chair to sit beside Lenah. "So, tell me about what you read." 

"I am dying to share. So today was about a girl who lived in a city with her family. She is just six years old. She lives with her father and mother and her aunt and uncle and grandfather and grandmother. " 

" Wow. Such a huge family."

"I know right. So listen. It is about before she was born. Her mom married her dad when she was in her mid thirties. The grandmother, i.e. the dad's mother was quite an orthodox woman forcing her daughter in laws to do everything according to her. She taunts the mother regularly for not working and her son working for the whole family. The mother is pregnant with the girl and soon gives birth to her. She doesn't allow the girl to be brought home because she wouldn't touch her for another 15 days as it's considered sinful. The mother stays at her father's home gladly. Soon she goes back and the child is fed only rice giving no nutrition to the body. They send the child out with her uncle, her father's brother, making the mother worry when they don't return for hours. The child born as a chubby healthy girl is now thin to her bones. The mother's agony is captured by her cries and silent protests towards the family but all in vain. As the child returns, the mother hugs her in relief. The family doesn't include her in traditional cermonials leaving her behind. They toy with the child making her follow a woollen thread all over the house. The mother can't see this. She complains to her husband but he is silent as usual. 

Such cruelty. The feelings of support or survival all taken away from the mother making her live her life in fear. She only knows that she needs to protect her baby and doesn't say or do anything. The fear in her quivering voice is portrayed so realistically that it makes your eyes well up.

What happens next? Why doesn't she protest ? Why doesn't she run away and go to her own home? I mean they must be accepting of their daughter right? ", asked Lenha.

'Sometimes the behaviour you tolerate is so familiar that going against it is terrifying. So you stay in your cocoons until it breaks. The guilt makes you stay where you are trying to give the family one more chance because you don't want to be the reason it all blew up into pieces.'

"What do you think, Jane? ", questioned Lenah.

Gathering myself out of the chair, I take a deep breath almost a sigh. "The story has many pages right. This is just 50 of many unfilled pages. Come back tomorrow and see for yourself if the pages are filled.". I chuckle and turn my back towards him. 

A severe prickling pain catches my attention. There's a tiny tear on my arm. "Must have been from the chair. Need to fix it soon."

''The tape rewinds, deletes and starts recording.''

A flower on the other table catches my eye. I take it and keep it between my binder. I love pressing flowers preserving them. Another flower. Wonder how many of these I'll get today. 

The pages of the binder are turned to reveal thousands of petals of different sizes and shapes but with different hues of red. The binder closes as Jane stops the recorder for the day.