This is one of the first pieces I wrote on the beginners creative writing course.
We had to choose a colour and write it into a story. I chose red because it is such an expressive colour, roses, lips, blood…
I drove through the woods on the way home after college that night, and saw two deer, which is where the inspiration came for part of this story.
I close my eyes, and the room transforms…
I am transported to a grand hall, standing atop of a majestic staircase. Music, lights and laughter fill my senses. I smile, feeling his warm hand in mine. Waves of silk caress the curves of my body as we step into the gathering. I feel empowered, loved. I am beautiful, my dress a crimson red, the colour of luscious lips, of blossoming rose petals.
I blink awake to stare again at the rose outside my window. I was 21 then, so young and full of life, my heart open to experience new things. Trusting, hopeful and carefree. How could I have known what was to come?
They are all but memories now. I take a breath, and look down at my frail, brittle, useless body. I am trapped, serving no purpose, spoon fed, left dribbling like a baby. Have they forgotten that I was once like them? That I can still feel so deeply?
A day passes, maybe two. Clouds darken…
I gaze back at the rose outside my bedroom window. It is all I stare at these days, apart from the tartan rug across my knees. The vibrant reds now turning a deeper red… petals starting to curl, crinkle…
Crumple… I close my eyes again.
Like our car that fateful night…
The rain drops patter on the windscreen as the wipers rhythmically scrape
across. We peer out through the mist, the light scattered, fractured from the
headlight beams. A sudden flash of rusty red, then screeching brakes. A thud…
The world is spinning, the road and trees a blur as the colours run together. A dark form rises up and I lift my hands to shield my face.
A loud crack to my right, red smears onto white…they don’t mix.
I try, try so desperately hard to save him. Red is now soaked into everything, it fills my vision. I can smell, taste, feel red. I hate red.
He won’t wake up…
I jolt awake and stare back at the rose. Time is now lost to me. A petal tips, catches the wind and snakes its way down gently to rest on the earth below… I hope I too will return to the earth soon, to join him again.
I watch another petal fall…
Then close my eyes…
Copyright © 2019 Lottie McKnight. All rights reserved.