R15 Drabble, #3: Red
These R15 themes have become "Let's try anything, anytime." No consistency whatsoever. And as for this one, I don't know if I like it or not. It's abrupt and the two ideas don't exactly mix... but they were the images that stuck in my mind. -_-;; And this brings me back to present tense (yes, no consistency at all...). Very short.
3. Red
Red is an array: two circles, a commingling of two pyramids, a sightless triangular eye, a flame, a salamander.
Red is a spark born and a spark dying, life in an eye blink, vibrant in one moment, forgotten in the next.
Red is consumption, fuel spent, a breath’s final exhalation, a corpse of ashes in its wake.
Red is the dancing, swaying afterimage burned onto the retinas after staring unblinkingly at a flame too long, a second’s enchantment recorded on the canvas of the mind.
Red is a fool’s desire to play with fire, an ungentle kiss brushed tauntingly across the skin.
And red is the earring he finds on the floor by his chair, small and delicately rounded, almost a victim beneath his foot.
And red is the rush of blood just beneath the skin, a blanket of rose petals spread across her cheeks, as he leans over her, deftly fitting the jewelry into its rightful place.
And red is the heat of her flesh beneath his fingertips, scalding but harmless, the life beating just beneath the softness of her skin.
And red is the curve of his lips as he walks away, satisfaction met with victory.
And red is the fire in his heart, the pleasant, languid warmth suffusing his body, an eternity’s happiness in a moment’s interaction.
... SO random.
3. Red
Red is an array: two circles, a commingling of two pyramids, a sightless triangular eye, a flame, a salamander.
Red is a spark born and a spark dying, life in an eye blink, vibrant in one moment, forgotten in the next.
Red is consumption, fuel spent, a breath’s final exhalation, a corpse of ashes in its wake.
Red is the dancing, swaying afterimage burned onto the retinas after staring unblinkingly at a flame too long, a second’s enchantment recorded on the canvas of the mind.
Red is a fool’s desire to play with fire, an ungentle kiss brushed tauntingly across the skin.
And red is the earring he finds on the floor by his chair, small and delicately rounded, almost a victim beneath his foot.
And red is the rush of blood just beneath the skin, a blanket of rose petals spread across her cheeks, as he leans over her, deftly fitting the jewelry into its rightful place.
And red is the heat of her flesh beneath his fingertips, scalding but harmless, the life beating just beneath the softness of her skin.
And red is the curve of his lips as he walks away, satisfaction met with victory.
And red is the fire in his heart, the pleasant, languid warmth suffusing his body, an eternity’s happiness in a moment’s interaction.
... SO random.