Her Color

Don't let the flame of your passion burn to bright, or it might hurt you

Her Color

By: G. A. Montero

            I've always been fascinated by the color red. Crimson. Scarlet. Any kind of red. It was a passionate color, that stood for love, lust, strength, and confidence. I've always loved that color. I was also an artist. Sitting at my drawing desk with sketchbooks filled to the brim with amateur works of art. They all had a common running theme, of course. Red. A red burning sunset. Red stones that lined a driveway. Red flowers, dotting a gray field of grass. I used clay as well. Small pots carved with intricate designs by my scalpel, filled my shelves. Those too, had splashes of red. Every day, I wore something red. Of course, I wasn't a freak about it. I didn't wear a red jumpsuit, or matching red pants and a shirt. I took the time to be… ‘normal.’ A red blouse. Or a little red bow in my hair. I simply loved the color red. One day, when I came home from school, I saw red. To the naked eye, it was nowhere to be found. Our living room was at loss of the beautiful color, and instead its theme was a light blue. No, instead it was in the air, flashing like a firework. There were my parents, screaming obscenities at each other. Their words were red, and their actions were red, and I could feel the fear start to creep into me, as I ran up to my room. For once, the red couldn't comfort me, for there was too much… It went on for days. Soon, it became a routine. An invisible red that hung around the house, blanketing my parents and every action they did. I too, then found something that could prevent myself from seeing their red…by using my own. I dived deep into my art hobby. Sketchbooks were splattered viciously with the color of red as my scalpel carved intricate designs into my arms. I became my own canvas, so many inches of skin just waiting to be drawn on. It was exhilarating. Seeing the color red coming from my own body �" the center of the color I loved the most. Whenever my carvings dried, I drew a new one, never ceasing the continuous paintings that adorned my skin. Lightheaded-ness was something I passed for euphoria. I had to do it, or else I’d see a different kind of red. The invisible one…this red was not invisible. It was LOUD. It drowned out the screams. It was the color that hazed before my eyes as I sat on the bathroom floor. It was the color that tricked from my mouth as I felt a cough gurgle from my throat. It was the color that dissipated as my parents ran into the room, looking at me in horror as I lay, embraced, in a puddle of my favorite color. I don’t regret it at all, leaving them like that. Their screams can’t find me. The hell I know now is red. It’s all red, just for me.