Red – by Indrani Dasgupta
I stood looking at the silk thread that lay dangling three inches above my head. It was a beautiful crimson silk yarn. However, It looked as if it had been vehemently torn from its embroidered body. It was lying limp on the Willow’s branch when a gust of wind blew it away. It flew, hypnotized and dancing magically to the tune of the shadowy breeze, over the crystal blue of the river, an eerie red against the grey landscape. My eyes pursued its meandering course till it disappeared beyond the moon light.
The marble mannequin lay stunned on the damp floor in scarlet nakedness and although its heart was still beating with an unwilling wish, the silvery twinkle had long been extinguished from her kohled eyes. Instead of the golden light that had once kindled life even in the dead and the agnostic, darkness now reigned victoriously even in the deepest of her crevices. The shimmering red gloss rubbed fervently from her now bloodless lips, stood a witness to a heated encounter while the crimson blood that flowed silently from between her legs screamed out the violation made to her soul. The deafening silence could be heard from afar and perhaps that is why the willow weeped and the cat cried.
I stood by the crystal calm, a long time, trying to dream the sequined house of the pariah thread. However, when I failed to sketch a satisfactory portrait, I lumbered down the woody road, little realizing that in the dark dwelling hidden from my view by the forest giants, lay a beautiful crimson dress, torn hideously and brutally removed from its ruined owner.
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