She was white.
Innocence was her perfume, mixed with the spice of kindness. As he watched and took her smell in (white tea with a hint of berries, a mild sweetness), some of the children noticed her and made her part of their game. She seemed to fit in perfectly, as if she was one of them; barefoot, running around in bliss, happiness glowing from her.
They said she was much too young, and there was someone who she answered to already, someone that cared for and about her. Yet the more he saw her, the more something inside stirred and told him he had to try to reach her, be part of her life.
She was red.
There was always a hint of it in her hair that made you wonder if fire ran through her veins. But that day, the red was all over her, showing the world what she hadn’t been able to say. They said the shock of it made her freeze, she couldn’t react and was numb. It wasn’t surprising, for who was to know that the someone that “cared” for her would also try to destroy her?
Even when she washed, the red stayed all over her for a long time, as did her numbness. She was not entirely herself anymore.
He was grey.
The day the red permeated her, he stayed in contact. She was taken back to someone else’s house after measures were taken to ensure her safety. Temporary arrangements that meant “home” would be a foreign word to her for a while.
He cursed to the night that he had not been there to take her “home”, so he offered her a new home and a chance to heal. He wasn’t expecting anything in return, for he knew how broken she had been left.
Worry, in so many tinges of grey, filled his eyes for her.
She was black.
Ghosts of the past would creep into her eyes and dance away, taking her into places deep in her mind where he couldn’t follow. If only there was a manual as to how to deal with those that are permeated by red, he would have read it.
Some nights he’d wake up to her cries, when the red ghosts filled her with panic or terrors. At times, she wouldn’t even recognise him.
Eyes full of fright would look up at him, as he whispered “Hey, hey, it’s me, it’s alright, it’s me, you’re safe”, and once they found his face in the dark and recognised his voice they’d close and let her relax. Some times things were easier and just stroking her would ease the darkness inside.
She was brown.
Little by little, the darkness started to give way to light. The nights would be easier, as would the days. She dared to go out once again and explore the world. He would come back home to find her curled up in the couch, waiting for him. Her brown eyes would glint and hint of the adventures lived, even if they were just taking a few steps into the garden or daring to explore beyond the neighbourhood.
And he smiled, for he could see how good earth and replanting were helping her grow again and be confident with herself; what had been destroyed was being rebuilt.
She was beautiful.
Cigarette in one hand, a string in the other, he teased her with it in the garden. She was in a playful mood and would try to grab it in her paws. But the song of birds would distract her from their game, and then he would lovingly admire her.
White fur with hints of red, her soft “fox” tail swaying in the air, now short on her 9 lives…,
but still very much alive.
Second one of the series. A little less of a happy story, and the idea of the series was to play with wording and storytelling.