Something red

 Day 7. Another from the backlog, same as yesterday. You may start to see a pattern here, name-wise- these are from a project in my Creative Writing class. I hope you enjoy it, either way.

Something red

Anger is not red. Red is of half-baked goods, of undercooked meats, of tomato bisque. The colour of disappointment, of the end of the rainbow with no pot of gold, the final river crossing where the bridge is out. It is the sands and rocks of the lakeshore harbouring memories of mediocre value, of the positive terminal of a battery which is that same colour of fear. This colour of history, of blood, that one deep red, but also of granite, of being set in stone, of finality. The reddening of the sky and the sunset is that which represents the closing act, the last line before the curtains close and the stage lights darken. Past the end, it is of rust, of things left forgotten and ignored, and a gradual, painful death. And to that end, or in that end, it is the reabsorbment of that dust into the soil, this end of all living things, only to be trod upon incessantly until the end of times.