May 2023: The Red House - Vi Trang
For the first ten years of his life, he saw things only in black and white. When his nan redecorated the cottage, he sighted his first colour—blue—and he fell in love.
He adored the sunset in the painting on the wall—the arch of blue gradient emitting from a white semicircle. He kept used cans of coca-cola, washed them clean and hung them to dry on the porch then turned them into clusters of aluminium wind chimes he hung by his windows. He drew on himself, with his sister's lipstick, tribal markings and ran topless across the paddock playing warfare by himself. When nan's cat was driven over and dumped—tied up in a sack—on the front porch, he collected its blood with a jar and used it in his drawings at school before it became too hardened, too dark and too acrid for him to keep it any longer.
In his teenage years, when the choice of clothing was his to make, he picked only blue shirts and trousers. They were incredibly hard to find. His sister teased him relentlessly. Suppose it's cool to have a little sister I can play dress up with, she said. The teasing started at home and continued at school. Kids would call him "Poppy" and laugh behind their hands. He often skipped classes and rode for hours to the outback where the wide landscape of blue dirt filled his heart with peace.
On his twenty-fifth birthday, nan died. She left both her grandchildren the cottage and a blue Honda. A week later, his sister left with the car; a note remained in her room. Don't bother looking for me, have a good life, it read. Within the following months, he sold off nan's possessions—save for her blue wool, blue rug and one of her cardigans, which wasn't blue, but he kept it for sentimental value. He spent the cash on a bucket of blue paint and coated the exterior of the cottage with it, except for the doors. So I can still see them, he would say to anyone who asked him the reason. But no one ever did.
One day after he finished his painting, a woman showed up at his door. She demanded that he listen to her lecture on his selfishness that had resulted in such an eyesore of a cottage and what it meant for the value of her property next door. He listened without protest but missed the scorn entirely for his attention was solely on the woman's companion–a young lady who wore a blue sundress, aqua slippers, and a smile warmer than the sea of blue dirt that had touched his heart a long time ago. That heart was touched again that day, and he beheld as all things rallied in a world of gradients; of hues moving from tints to shades and back; of the cool, calm blue turning into fire. When the swirling ceased, love had opened up his eyes—for the first time—to the beauty of red.
Vi Trang
Right Left Write’s May genre prompt was Surrealism.
In June we’ll be exploring the other side of the coin, with Realism. Show us your best writing - whether you stick to the theme or experiment and subvert expectations! Find out more about the competition and submit at www.queenslandwriters.org.au/rightleftwrite.
Right Left Write’s May genre prompt was Surrealism.