The Color Yellow

Mary skipped down the road, yellow line after yellow line appearing like a never ending trail to her destiny. The color radiated quite beautifully against the dense blackness of the tar, protruding along with its own volition. Mary’s eyes followed the short bursts of color as she carelessly continued down the winding road. Never once did her mind wander to the far reaches of her true destiny, never did she realize the danger that lurked just around the corner. Her mother was at work, father long gone into untold lands. Nana too had been absent for the last few days, leaving Mary free to her own adventures.

She couldn’t say she regretted her childish choice in color, the yellow still gave her comfort as it did then. Alone now, Mary looked to the lines for guidance, lines boldly leading her in directions that must be sensible, otherwise, why would they be there? She discontinued her skipping rhythm, becoming content with a slow saunter. The sky above her began to darken, turning a sharp golden red as the sun set behind a distant hill.

To the left, Mary’s subconscious registered a slight noise, only to put it off as leaves blowing against a surface. The thoughts of home filled her mind to the brim; it had become a tense place, often frustrating her. Money, getting tighter by the day, had been brought to the spotlight in her mother’s eyes. It was a tricky thing that her still young mind couldn’t quite comprehend fully. Nor did she want to understand it’s severity, for money always seemed to center around the downfall of a person's nature. Once you lost your fortune, you had to leave, whether by will or force; at least, that’s what her mother told her. But Mary assumed she didn’t need to worry about that, her mother was at work just then, fixing any problems that had arisen.

More noises, this time louder, brought Mary’s attention to the footsteps behind her. Shoving her hands into thin pockets, she turned her head to see a man following casually behind. A simple neighbor she thought, no one to take attention to. Turning forward again, another figure stepped into view; this one a mere twenty feet ahead, walking in a steady pace towards her. Mary, never one to favor men, felt her heart speed up in her chest. Figuring a submissive approach would be better, she tilted her head down, staring at the yellow lines as she walked down the path of her destiny. Ten feet more and the man in front of her would pass, never to be seen again by her wandering eyes. Eight feet, seven feet, she felt fingers wrap around the back of her arm. Six feet, five feet, a hand reaches from behind and places a towel on her mouth. Four feet, three feet, Mary’s lungs burn for air, eyes wide with fear. Two feet, one foot, the man in front of her stops and smiles as she slips into unconsciousness.