Those Little Nothings ✔

Red

Red

As Nick gave the final stroke of red to his canvas, the painting blossomed with all its glory inviting passerby's to stare at it in awe and admiration.

The girl in Red, he had named the portrait, a beautiful girl with glorious red hair and the reddish, crystal clear orbs of her eyes as big as the ocean itself, stared back at him as he got lost in that wide girlish smile of hers.

As people came and admired his handiwork, everyone was deeply mesmerised by the shades of red, and only red that he used in his painting. They were awestruck by the beauty of the girl that was painted in red.

But no one was to know that she did exist, or at least she used to. Not only in his dreams or his artwork but in his life as well. She was his fiancée. And more than anything she used to adore red.

Her wardrobe was full of red, red jeans, red tank tops, red skirts, stilettos, pumps, everything that belonged to her had to be a combination of red, otherwise they may rot in garbage. She loved the color and often used to tell him that colours are what that define your personality.

Whenever our mind wanders to danger, red is the first color that our mind conjures up. Its just not a color, it gives us a glimpse of blood and lust. As though the color is made to give a meaning to the words and feelings. Its the ultimate sign of glamour and boldness.

She told him randomly that red is what defined her. True, that was, he often thought lying on his bed late at night. She was feisty, sarcastic, bold, but with a soft heart. And nonetheless, he loved her. Like hell. So did she.

Another time he had heard her saying that red is like fire. Unstoppable. Just the way that the horizon is painted with shades of vibrant and pale colours. It expresses anger. Anger that is poison, for ones own self. "Anger", she continued, "its composed of strokes of red. Have you ever noticed when a person's angry, their face turns red." Then she laughed, the laugh that used to make his heart beat faster, the laugh that did nothing to calm the frantic pulse down whenever he was around her. "You see Nick, everyone has a thing for something," she continued blabbering. "I have a thing for red. And the way I see it, red is what defines Love. Blood. It is what that elaborates the meaning of life." He just couldn't help staring at her. And that's when he noticed a faint blush creeping up her neck. Another shade of red.

He still remembered that day, the details clear as ever. They were going out for walk. Their hands looped together, when she saw a kid in the middle of the road, his mother oblivious to him, chatting with her friend.

An old green Chevy was speeding its way, inching closer to the child with evey passing second. She sped with all her might, gave the kid a little push and made him land safely on the sidewalk, but before she could return herself to safety, the vehicle hit her, and the last thing she saw was red. And his loud, obnoxious cries to stay with him, which gradually became muffled and distant.

Her own blood, she noticed, was pooling at her side. Thick red fluid oozing out of her gravely injured body. Red had been the death of her.