RED

 

                                         Red

The floor was red.It was everywhere spreading, creeping, like it was alive. It wasn't any colour or paint', it was thick and wet, filling the air with a smell that that made my stomach twist. The room felt like it was closing in, the walls breathing, the shadows Stretching. My heart pounded so bad I thought it might burst. I wanted to scream, but the sound was stuck in my throat, trapped by the terror that froze me in place. The red was all i could see, all I could think about, and it made me feel like I was drowning in it.. I wanted to look away, but it pulled me in, showing me things I didn't want to see things I couldn't unsee.

I couldn't move. I couldn't look away. I stared at it, wondering if it could ever be washed away or if it would just sink into the cracks like the secrets we were never allowed to tell. The air was cold, so cold it felt like the room itself was dying,like it was trying to take me with it. It wasn't just the cold you feel on your skin it was in my bones, crawling through me, making me feel like i was Shrinking, like i was becoming smaller and smaller until i might just disappear altogether. I tried to stand tall, to be brave, but the fear was too big, too heavy. It pressed down on me, making me want to cry, to scream, but i couldn't. All i could do was stare at that terrible, dark sea of red, wondering if it would ever stop spreading. every corner, every crack, or if it would keep seeping into until it drowned everything in its way, leaving nothing behind but a cold, empty void.

Covered in all the red, there was my mom. The world tilted, and i was left in a disorienting whirl of horror. I had been staring at the blood, unable to move, but now. I could see her face pale and lifeless. I wanted to hold her, to shake her awake, but i was paralyzed by fear and disbelief. I just Stood there, staring at her, my hands shaking, my whole body trembling, too scared to even reach out and touch her. What if she was cold? What if she was gone?

I wanted to run, to hide, to make it all go away, but i couldn't leave her. I couldn't leave ber alone with the ghosts. I felt like i was drowning, like i was falling into that sea of red, sinking deeper and deeper into it, and there was no one there to pull me out. I wanted to tell her I loved her, that i was sorry for every time i made her sad, I was sorry for the meals she prepared with so much love, only to be met with my stubborn refusal because I wanted that packet of chips Instead. For every time I complained, called her names, and told her she was a bad mother for not letting me run and play outside on those bright, sunny days, when all she was trying to do was keep me safe. I am sorry, Sorry for every cigarette of papa's I took and threw away knowing she took the blame for it.

I didn't want to believe it, didn't want to see it, but she was right infront of me, in the way her body lay still, too Still, and the way her eyes were closed like she was sleeping. I slowly tiptoed over to where she lay, as if my footsteps could wake up the ghosts that lived in our house. They said ghosts only come out at night, but i knew better. The ghosts never left us, they just became part of the furniture, part of the walls, part of her, part of me, part of our home.

'Mumma...." My voice was soft, like the slow wind through broken windows. I didn't want to scare her. I didn't want her to see how scared I was.

Her eyes opened slowly, as if she was waking up from a nightmare she couldn't escape from, but this was no dream. Her face was covered in the kind of bruises that stories without words and her eyes- those tired, broken eyes- looked at me like they had forgotten how to hope..

"What time is it she asked, but it didn't sound like her voice. It sounded like something from far away, like the echoes you hear when you press your ear to a seashell. I looked at the clock, the one that ticked it felt like a heartbeat trying to keep us alive.

It's 8:30, mumma, " I said, as if telling her the time could fix everything, as if numbers could hold pieces of our broken morning. 

She nodded, but it was a nod of defeat, not agreement. "Go get ready, she whispered, as if that was the most important thing in the world. And maybe it was. Maybe the only way to survive was to pretend everything on the floor  was normal, even when the blood tells a different story.

I ran to the corner where my school uniform waited for me, like a soldier's armor before battle. Be even as i moved, I couldn't hide the limp in my step. The pain was always there, a reminder that some battles leave Scars that never really heal. But i moved quickly because time didn't wait for pain, and neither did the world.And  in that morning, A child learned to carry the weight of the world.

I dressed as fast as I could, buttoning  up my shirt with fingers that shook too much.I could hear mumma in the kitchen, the sound of pots clinging together as if she was hurting, could feel it in the way she moved each step heavy with the memories of last night's. But she never said a word. she never cried. Crying was for people who had someone to comfort them.

I limped my way to the kitchen, the scent of burnt rice filling the air. It was the smell of desperation, of a mother trying to hold onto something normal when everything was falling apart. I watched her as she cooked, watched the drops of blood falling from her hair like rain that had forgotten how to be gentle. she didn't even notice, maybe she couldn't feel it anymore.

She placed the food infront of me, a simple meal that tasted like survival. I ate without  saying anything,chewing slowly because i knew. I had to finish it, even though every bite felt like swallowing nails. As i ate, mumma pulled out a crumpled 20 rupee note, the last bit of love she had to give that morning. She placed it on the table, her hand trembling slightly, but she didn't let it show.

"For your tiffin" "she said, her voice almost breaking, but she caught it just in time. I took the money and tucked it into my bag, feeling the weight of it against my chest, like a secret I had to keep safe.

I stood up, adjusting my bag on my shoulder, feeling the sting of pain shoot through my leg again. I wanted to say something wanted to tell her that it would be okay, but the words wouldn't come. I just looked at her, memorizing the way she stood there, broken but still standing and i turned to leave.

As i limped towards the door, I knew she would clean the blood, hide the bruises in the dim light, and pretend that today was just another day, but i also knew that the wounds was deeper than any of us could see.

And so, the day begins not with sunrises, but with the scars that never leave. 

I stepped outside, the cold air biting at my cheeks, but i kept walking,kept moving forward because that's what we did. We moved forward, even when everything inside us screamed to stop. Because in our house, stopping meant  surrendering  and surrendering meant losing everything.

And so, I  walked that away, carrying the silence with me, knowing that in a  few hours, I would return to the same house, the same silence, the same pain. But for now, I just kept moving because that's all I knew how to do.