A person


Currently writing a book (Wattpad)
I don't normally end my stories with the cliche hero saves the day.
Music lover. Moon follower.
Dragon believer.
Happy alone.

xxx Author

Message from Writer

When you try living with two dogs, three cats, and two birds, then you can complain to me that it's hard to concentrate on your writing.

Eternally Red

June 11, 2019

I can remember. The memory feels as if it was happening right before me still. I viewed it in slow motion. Over and over and over and over again. Oh! If only it were really happening again right now: I could do something!
But it’s not. It’s just a memory – just a stain of red on white innocence.
I can remember. We were young boys, not yet grown into our handsome. We skipped along like the children we were, happy and oblivious – living in our own fantasy world. Our milk cans, pea tins, and jam pots performed as if they were a marching band, loud and relentless. They could have been louder than the thunder that was sure to accompany the dark grey clouds, folding around themselves, gently riding along a path of air. They looked as if they were a predator, patiently waiting for their prey. Watching and waiting. Watching and waiting. When the time was right – when their prey was in place – they’d strike. Unleashing the waves of ice-cold attacks, the loud roars hidden in the grey, the occasional shadow casted by the atmospheric electricity.
But nothing could hurt us, right?
I can remember. We had trekked through wet grass of the previous rain. We rounded the fields of hay and corn where men worked, carrying the armour of sweat on their chests. We followed the gutters of the roads as men and women drove passed in their monsters called technology. But finally, finally, we reached the fields of purple, red, and green.
I can remember. We had entered the fields of blackberries, cans, tins, and pots in hand. We had found our first pick. Glossy and purple. Ripe and sweet-smelling. You told me to eat it because I was the one to pick it. I looked at the hopeful smile you wore as you ushered me on with the movement of your hands. I think that was the first time. The first time I had asked myself, “how could life be so unforgiving to a boy who had only aimed to help his family – going out every day and working to put food on the table even if it wasn’t his job?”
I can remember. I had surrendered to your commands and ate the berry. The juices spread across my tongue like soldiers invading lands, though there wasn’t much of a fight. The thickened wine made from the summer’s blood was a welcomed taste. There was an uncontrolled lust for more, so we picked, and picked. And picked. Until our cans were full, overflowing even. We tried to pick them all up without spilling the flooding droplets of purple. However, our efforts proved fruitless.
I can remember. We had called it a day. Like the men in the fields we wore our armour of sweat with pride. We had worked for our gold like they had. With cans, tins, and pots in hand, we were on our way. Once again, we trekked through the wet grass and the fields of hay and corn – however, no man was to be seen. We followed the roads, as usual.

Never again will I trek that path.
I can remember. It was the time of peak hour traffic. The adults were in their cars. They were anxious. They all just wanted to see their families. My friend shared the same feeling. He was excited to show them all the purple and red treasure he had picked. It’s funny: his family isn’t very fortunate when it comes to finances, but they get along like they have gold mines in their yard. Whereas, the more fortunate families are the opposite; striving for more and more money.
Quite the idea.
I can remember. Oh! How could I forget? He smiled like he had won a million dollars, despite the sky that was now spitting, the predator readying to pounce. The downpour of the sky’s tears were a foreshadowing. It was warning me.
But it was too late…
I can remember. I had watched as the car had lost its control. The rain turned its wheels. He didn’t want to go that way. He didn’t mean it.
But even so, a child against a car.
I can remember. Berries scattered across the road. Colours of purple, red, and green mixing with the tears of the sky and my own.
I can remember. There was fear. There was anger. There was devastation.
He just wanted to see his family! I had screamed at the sky. I wanted to hear the answer of the man he believed in so much to protect him and his family.
But it was nothing but a lie. He didn’t protect them! If he did, my friend wouldn’t have been there that day, struggling to keep that smile on his face as he prayed for some scraps to be put on the table. He was the predator. And he had made his strike.
I can remember. I lost my best friend to a harsh reality. A reality that stole away that white film over my vision, staining it red. It took my innocence and shoved me into a cold-hearted world. It trapped me in a place where the predator now continuously claws at the hole in my chest. It’s so painful. I want back my innocence. It’s too hard. I don’t want to be in this world anymore.
I can remember. That night I was filling the bath with my pick from that day. I sat back against the locked door. I pulled my knees up close, lowered my head, and I prayed to that child’s make-believe god.
I can remember. I had looked at the berries in hopes of lifting my shattered spirit. I wanted to taste the sweetness of summer’s blood one last time… Because I know I will never again be able to taste the small piece of heaven after this day. However, I was greeted with a rat-grey fungus. The juices were stinking too. The sweetness had turned sour. I felt like crying. It was like… when he left… he took all the goodness of the world with him.
It’s not fair!
Never… will I be able to rid myself of the red that has stained my memories. Whether it be from the berries or my passed friend.
I apologise for the hate against God. I really don't mean it. It just fits with the story.

Hope you enjoy!


See History
  • June 11, 2019 - 9:18pm (Now Viewing)

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  • MazeRunnerGirl

    I love this, it feels so real. Like you wrote a memorial poem. I believed it at the first word, you have such a compelling writing style. :)

    over 2 years ago
  • NovaStorm03

    Wow... this is so moving, I got goose bumps. You have an amazing talent for words. Just...Wow!

    almost 3 years ago