Thursday, February 2, 2012


It was the red that made her do it.

The rebellious red of her toenail polish--the color she wore the day she slammed the door on her father’s yelling voice and slipped into the driver’s seat of her souped-up red corvette.  Leaving a rooster tail of red Oklahoma dirt flying as she pulled out of the drive.   

The loving, strength red of her mother’s ruby ring wrapped around her finger.  The only remnant she has of the rosy memories of her childhood before her mother’s death.

The ripping pain, shredded life red of the blood soaking her shirt.  Her rebellious nature, her stubborn will had made him mad again.  And this time--the only time--he’d hit her.

She tucked her babies safe in their seats and started the car.

She went back in to finish what he started.  She pulled a box of matches from the cupboard.  She struck one and let it fly.

She could hear the red flames crackle as she walked away.

At the first red light, she made a plan.  Her long blond hair would turn to red.  She’d find a new town, a new life, a safe place for her babies.

Looking into the rear-view mirror, she trembled a bit as the red fire truck flew past, sirens blaring.  Her babies were safe.  Their soft red curls formed halos around their heads as they slept and dreamed the easy dreams.  She smiled and pressed the red of her lipstick against her mouth.  

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