a/n: The wonderful Helen suggested I write a drabble to get myself out of a writing funk. A dear friend gave me the word 'colour'. This was the result.
Red
Red was your colour.
If not red, then science blue. Blue was better for you. Blue was innocence, and youth.
But red was what you wrapped around yourself. It was your armour. It was your downfall.
For years, you wore that blood-red and slowly lost a part of yourself. You vanished, slightly at first, and then with increasing momentum into the vastness of space that separated us from our home.
You lips - ever so perfect - were red.
Red was the passion of my dreams; of my nightmares.
And with red on your shoulders, you hid yourself from me.
(I think I am also going to need to start a series titled 'shit Helen challenges me to write to get out of a funk' - as it seems to happen a bit!)
