Paragraphs

Redhead

He always loved her hair. From the moment she was born with her sparse red locks, he'd always loved his daughter's hair. She looked like her mother; his wife; his whole world.

He watched his daughter grow up with pride in his eyes. Everyday she looked more like her mother, and acted more like her as well. Her red hair grew long and bounced behind her in waves.

When her mother died, he held his little girl close and brushed her hair. She was only six. She was so young and she still needed her mother. So did he.

Somehow they managed. She grew up quickly. To quickly, he thought. She was smart and beautiful. Amazing. Just like her mother. Hair, fiery red.

He rushed to the hospital. A car accident. She was in a car accident. His beautiful, vibrant daughter. Just like her mother.

Her hair was red. Too red. The wrong shade of red. Not his daughter's beautiful carrot-top; closer to wine red. Blood red.

His heart nearly stopped.

She was okay. You're okay, he thought, running his fingers through her red hair. You're okay.

I love you.

Years passed.

I love you.

He chanted it like a mantra to get him through the days.

I love you.

I love you, he screamed as the men dragged him away from the home he was struggling to get back to.

I love you, he shouted as he was cuffed and shoved into the car, locked away from the fibres that had kept him alive for the years after his daughter's death.

I love you, he howled, watching them drag out bundles of red hair from inside, loading the scalps, that he had so lovingly peeled off and cut free, into evidence bags.

I love you.

I love you and your red hair.