Page 169 - Musings 2020
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                                           Red   with   a   Tinge   of   Orange

                                             G   Sundar   2017A4PS0383P   and   Atharva   Patil   2017A4PS0256P

               Her  fingernails  shined  red  as  blood  slowly  dripped  through  her  motionless  fingers.  It  seemed
               as  if  time  stood  still.  She  slowly  turned  her  gaze  towards  the  family  drowning  in  tears.  The
               mother  wailed  over  the  loss  of  her  only  daughter,  still  unable  to  leave  her  side.  The  father
               grabbed  her  by  the  collar  in  angst,  “Scarlett  White,  I’ll  never  forgive  you!”,  tears  rolled  down
               his   sleeves   onto   his   watch   as   it   struck   eighteen   past   one.

               Scarlett  jumped  from  her  bed  freeing  herself  from  the  nightmare.  It  was  routine  now.  After
               all,  it  is  only  human  to  repent  on  your  sins  with  no  end.  The  faces  of  her  friend’s  kin  were
               likely  to  haunt  her  for  years  to  come.  As  she  poured  herself  some  coffee,  she  pondered  over
               the  greatest  mistake  of  her  life.  Her  delusions  had  gotten  the  best  of  her.  After  all  those  years
               at   the   asylum,   she   could   only   hope   that   they   never   return.   The   sun   was   up   and   shining.
               Scarlett   prepared   herself   for   another   day   of   job   hunting,   in   hopes   of   a   renewed   life.

               There  wasn’t  much  hope  of  finding  a  job  on  a  Sunday.  But  to  her,  the  disappointment  won’t
               be  different  from  any  other  day  of  the  week.  She  would  have  preferred  to  go  for  the  church
               mass  instead.  However,  being  barely  able  to  pay  for  her  subway  ride,  this  was  evidently  the
               wise  choice.  It  was  a  long  day.  Scarlett  hoped  she  could  catch  the  last  subway  home.  She  had
               no  choice  but  to  make  a  run  for  it.  She  panted  heavily  at  the  deserted  station.  She  had  missed
               her   train.   “Now   I’ll   have   to   walk   home”,   she   thought   as   she   started   walking   towards   the   exit.

               She  hated  walking  home.  The  chilly  wind  that  threw  her  hair  rustling  past  her  ears  reminded
               her  of  a  certain  night.  She  was  seven  years  old.  Grandma’s  lap  provided  her  more  warmth
               than  the  burning  fireplace  ever  could.  “Scarlett,  my  dear”,  she  said,  “your  father  was  a  brave
               man.  His  psyche  was  unlike  anyone  else  in  the  family.  Your  mother  and  I  pleaded  him  to  stay,
               to   reconsider.   But   he   was  resolute.  He  wanted  to  go  to  Vietnam,  in  fact,  in  his  words  ‘he
               needed   it’.”

               Scarlett  already  knew  this  about  her  father.  Unfortunately,  that  was  all  that  she  knew  about
               him.  He  had  left  the  country  to  fight  in  the  war  when  Scarlett  was  merely  two  years  old.  She
               never  got  to  know  him  any  better.  The  carcasses  on  the  walls  of  her  living  room  and  the  US
               flag  banner  on  top  of  her  fireplace  gave  her  nothing  but  a  peek  into  his  life.  “Before  going,  he
               asked  me  to  promise  to  pass  on  something  to  you.  Now  that  I  know  that  he  is  never  to  return,
               now   is   the   right   time.”   Grandma   presented   Scarlett   with   an  Alaskan  Harpoon  Knife.  The
               knife  was  a  magnificent  work  of  art.  The  silver  blade  was  accompanied  by  an  Ivory  handle
               with  her  old  man’s  initials  “C.W.”  carved  into  it.  Since  that  day  Scarlett  saw  her  dad  quite  a
               few   times.   It   took   her   a   while   to   realise   that   was   probably   when   the   delusions   started.

               Just  then  she  entered  a  dark  alleyway,  another  part  that  she  hated  about  walking  home.  But
               the  alley  wasn’t  completely  dark  that  night.  She  saw  a  flash  of  light  and  a  face  and  another
               man   falling   over.   “Someone   has   been   shot”,   she   thought.   She   ran   towards   the   spot.   She
               kneeled  to  help  the  bleeding  man.  Blood  dripping  from  the  forehead  to  the  face  of  the  dead
               man.   It   was   a   familiar   face.   The   same   face   that   had   once   vowed   to   never   forgive   her.





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