Summary: Hernan reflects upon his life which he defines to be red.

Tags: Sort of a character study mixed with red, suggested adult themes, drama

Rated: T

Growing up, Hernan associated the color red with the tomatoes from his father's garden. He would pluck them from the vine and bite from them like an apple.

'It's juicy, Hernan; try it.'

The way the pink juice would dribble down his weathered chin grossed a young boy, but Hernan held the large red fruit between his two hands and bit into it like red apples. Fake red apples that were sweet.

Hernan associated red with Valentina's favorite dress. She was not allowed to wear it on Sundays but she wore it at night when mom wasn't looking. She would dance through the trees in her red dress and whisper to Hernan her dreams of the future.

'Just wait for it, Hernan. I will meet a young gentleman who will sweep me off my feet and take me far, far away from here.'

'Away from me?'

Valentina smiled, 'Never, I'd take you with me. After all, I need someone to do the chores in my new mansion.'

Hernan went to tackle her but Valentina sprang from his grasp with a loud laugh. She ran, and Hernan chased after the fluttering tail of her red dress. The red dress Valentina dreamed of running away in.

Hernan saw red in his mother's prayer beads.

'For each bead you say a prayer, mi cariño.' His mother explained one night when she caught Hernan's watchful gaze.

Valentina slept soundly beside him as he could feel the small bones of her curved spine digging into him, but he paid little heed to it. Instead he watched as each bead passed through his mother's calloused hands while she whispered her prayers beneath the flickering of candle light and the red glowing ring around the burning incense.

Then there was that day, when he had knocked Valentina from the tree and he saw the bright red of her blood stain the grass - her skin - his hands. Red. Bright red.

He never forgot it.

Red was color of the lights after dark. Hernan would stand before the window watching the crimson bulb cast shadows over pale skin and black lace. Wicked lips painted red beckoned him with an upward curl. Sometimes he would indulge the red, other nights he did not.

Red was the color of a red scarf, drifting through the desert blue sky like a forgotten cry for help. Hernan would clutch his rifle closer to him and continue walking.

The hole in the wall bars were painted red and their beer stained tables were cherry mahogany, but what he remembered most was the red glow of the Exit sign well after closing time. Hernan liked to think it was an exit from a world of red. However, when he tried to imagine what a colorless world would look like, he never had the courage to step through.

Now he was glad he never did.

When he looked at those red eyes for the first time, wild and lost, Hernan couldn't help but think this was truly the color red. It was bloody cruel like the thorns that adorned roses, but just as enticingly sweet and innocent as the red bud. It was alive and kicking like a bloodied heart, and glowed like embers – the last sparks of a dying flame.

Red was the last cry before the dark; a color of the living, and so Hernan had brought him home, and welcomed red like an old friend.

Now when he looked at him, Hernan was reminded of the red of the carnation that his father had tucked behind his sister's ear. He saw red in the red stitching of a heart his mother had sewn in his father's hat, and he saw it in the scarlet string that blew in the breeze from the head of his father's guitar.

Red was warm. Red was soft. Red was the pad of his fingers tips when they ran across Hernan's arm. It was the flush of color across pale cheeks, and the quirk of lips that held a secret.

"Come to bed." Mischievous fingers tugged at the red of his belt. The 'S' symbol stood prominently at the center.

Hernan laughed. "Si, con todo mi corazón."

Those red eyes flickered up at him and Hernan knew.

'The color red always meant love, but I never understood it until I met you.'

*Si, con todo mi corazón = Yes, with all my heart

A/N: So this was inspired by this one poetry book, "Bluets", by Maggie Nelson featuring her reflection on the color blue. I'm more than a little half way through it, but I love it so far, and thus this short little fic was born about the color red. Thanks for reading if you've gotten down this far, and take care!