armband
Red is such a lovely color.... Head tilted, she contemplated the shade as it dripped down her wrist.
"You know," she remarked conversationally, speaking to the nothing memories that surrounded her, "I do like red. But only when it's dark like this," raising a wrist, "and not those garish bright reds that do nothing but hurt the eyes. I don't know why people would prefer those bright shades to such a sensible dark one."
Blinking bemusedly she stared at the lines she had made, the scissors lying beside her on the floor. She could hear the cat, meowing at the door and pawing at the crack in an attempt to enter. With a bitter smile she pulled apart the lines, desperate for the color she loved, because she knew that the only sound she heard was in her mind. The cat was dead, buried in the backyard beside the family dog.
She picked up the scissors again. Maybe it could banish the ghosts, where she could not.
This time the lines encircled her arm, creating armbands in that same beautiful shade of red. The beads and drops of crimson were lovely, set against a backdrop of pale white. She counted the lines, wanting to be sure before everything was washed away. They were ten in all, a number that wasn't really significant in any way aside from the present. Maybe it had meant something once, but if ever it had she couldn't remember.
Pressing the scissors into her palm, gifting her instrument with a thin coating of that beautiful shade, she closed her eyes. There was nothing there behind her eyes, except for the memories at the door. There hadn't been anything there for a very long time, all the brilliant colors she had once contained all leeched away by life and all the cruelties thereof. Now the only color she possessed was that which now flowed through her, escaping to become a living, dying jewelry. The only ornament she ever wore.
"What beautiful armbands...."
"You know," she remarked conversationally, speaking to the nothing memories that surrounded her, "I do like red. But only when it's dark like this," raising a wrist, "and not those garish bright reds that do nothing but hurt the eyes. I don't know why people would prefer those bright shades to such a sensible dark one."
Blinking bemusedly she stared at the lines she had made, the scissors lying beside her on the floor. She could hear the cat, meowing at the door and pawing at the crack in an attempt to enter. With a bitter smile she pulled apart the lines, desperate for the color she loved, because she knew that the only sound she heard was in her mind. The cat was dead, buried in the backyard beside the family dog.
She picked up the scissors again. Maybe it could banish the ghosts, where she could not.
This time the lines encircled her arm, creating armbands in that same beautiful shade of red. The beads and drops of crimson were lovely, set against a backdrop of pale white. She counted the lines, wanting to be sure before everything was washed away. They were ten in all, a number that wasn't really significant in any way aside from the present. Maybe it had meant something once, but if ever it had she couldn't remember.
Pressing the scissors into her palm, gifting her instrument with a thin coating of that beautiful shade, she closed her eyes. There was nothing there behind her eyes, except for the memories at the door. There hadn't been anything there for a very long time, all the brilliant colors she had once contained all leeched away by life and all the cruelties thereof. Now the only color she possessed was that which now flowed through her, escaping to become a living, dying jewelry. The only ornament she ever wore.
"What beautiful armbands...."