Day 23: Come up with every possible way to describe something as “red” without using the word itself.

Urmmmm… So, this one started as just a list. Then I found out where I was going with it and it tumbled and continued. Then it became what it is.

Scarlet. Crimson. Ruby. The colour of the sky at night which would cause a Shepherd to hurl himself around in exultation. The colour of the sky in the morning that would cause a shepherd to howl with misery, running through the streets crying ‘Bewareeeee, bewareeee!’ The colour of an Englishman on holiday. The colour of blood as it spills from the body, fully oxygenated. A blush, rising through the cheeks of the embarrassed. The third primary colour, after blue and yellow.

The colour of the ribbon in her hair as you take her by the hand and lead her up to your favourite place. The colour of the blush in her cheeks as you go down onto one knee. The colour of the single, small ruby in the ring you present her with. It is the colour of the sky on that timeless evening.

It is, strangely, the colour of the hands on the clock that you watch anxiously. It is the colour of your best friends tie as he stands behind you at the altar. It is the edging on the priest’s robes, the colour of your mother-in-law to be’s hat, your sister’s lipstick. A burnt, almost brown version is the colour of the church doors, as the open to reveal her in all of her finery.

It is the colour of a statement wall in your first apartment, a hideous neon colour. It is the colour of the apples in the fridge. It is the colour of your anger as you have your fights. It is the colour of the wine you buy after you have stormed out of the flat.

It is the colour of her dress that she wears as she follows you out into the street.

It is the colour of the traffic light as she begins to cross the road you just did.

It is the colour of the Ford Focus that ploughs through at 60 miles an hour in a 30 zone.

It is the colour of her blood as she lies, broken and dying on the street.

The Idiot in Tin Foil

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