Poetry, Shorts & Prattle (On Hold)

Red (A Short Story) (Colours of War, I)

RED

Dazen knelt beside the deep, murky pool. His head bowed, he laboriously unwound the crimson scarf from his neck; as soon as the thin covering was removed, the chill evening air rushed forth and seized him, wrapping itself around his exposed flesh and threatening to choke him like an invisible hangman's noose.

For a moment, Dazen was still. He simply stared in silence at the garment that rested in his hands.

Red.

He let the scarf slip from his grasp; it caught the edges of his fingers for a brief time before finally falling to the ground. Dazen's gaze drifted to where the bank met the water. He spied a small object gently bobbing in the shallows; a little blossom that had fallen from one of the nearby trees.

Red.

This realisation seemed to trigger something within him - a distant memory, perhaps - for Dazen's right hand moved upwards of its own accord. It reached once more for his neck, for something else that hung there, and his cold, trembling fingers eventually captured the thin silver chain. Dazen slowly ran it between his thumb and forefinger. When he had found what he sought, he lifted it so that the faint light that remained was reflected by it, hence making it visible. A crystal pendant.

Red.

Dazen barely felt the pendant make contact with his skin as he released it. His gaze returned to the pool, where he was just able to make out the features of his reflection. He looked into his own eyes.

Red.