Prompted by the colour of the backpack, I wrote the following story.
Red, the colour of the scarf that covers the scars on her neck. The scars of a relationship that soured. The scars on her heart take longer to heal.
Red, the colour of the blanket draped around her shoulders, and the soup given to her by the Sallies.
Red is the colour of her father’s eyes, his nose when he drank too much. The colour of his skin when he heard how James had treated her.
Red, the colour of the luscious strawberries that she bought for $1 per kilo in Cairns. She shared them with Bridget and Julian as they sang under the stars and Peter strummed his guitar and drank red wine.
Red, the colour of the shoes that they gave her to wear when she first graced the stage.
Red, the colour of the dress she wore when she accepted the Logie for Best Actress in a Musical.
And red is the colour of the satin sheets she sleeps on tonight, remembering yesterday and dreaming of tomorrow.
171 words. It still fits within the 150 +25… just.