Vermillion

• Hannah Mazey, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2021

“Thanks,” I give the cashier a weak smile before making my way to the ‘Pick Up’ line.
The smell of coffee and tea invade my nostrils as I blow my warm breath into my hands, and rub them viciously, hoping to radiate more body heat. Nothing. Everyone here looks...well, miserable. Sifted icing sugar falls gently from the smoky sky, creating a thick blanket over the city; raindrops racing down window panes, children happily chugging their hot chocolates.

But her. She looks so peaceful in this cold world. A smirk smeared across her face as she sketches on her notebook. She carefully picks up the cardboard coffee cup as her lips kiss the opening of the lid, tilting her head as she drains herself with the contents. I know her. Her pink tongue massages over her pearly teeth, as she continues to scribble on the paper.
“Wren! The, uh, Strawberry smoothie and powdered donut... Wren!”
Oh, that’s me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and collect my order as I give the barista a weak smile.
Turning away harshly, I bump into her.

“Oh, I’m really sorry. I should really watch where I’m going,” her soft voice rings in my ears.
“No, that was all my fault,” I say, picking up my donut, neatly squashed in the brown bag.
“Everything is still in perfect shape, so it’s ok,” I say, giving her a reassuring smile.
She shows off her pearly teeth again.
“Well, um, I noticed how beautiful you were when you were drawing. Could I take you out today… or someday?” I ask nervously.
“Actually, I was just going to head to the city park,” she says, as her big blue eyes beam at me.
I know.
“Oh, I was... heading there too,” I say scratching the back of my neck.
“Well then, let’s walk together,” she says happily.
Well that was easy - like she always is.

The park is filled with our laughter, learning a lot about each other.
The wind plays with her hair as the snow dances around us, peppering our heads and tickling our faces. Her warm breath that smells of hot chocolate, is a soothing sensation to my icy face. Her blue eyes scanning my face as I caress her sun-kissed face, tracing my fingers down to her plumped strawberry lips. Our face's are dangerously close to each other, I can hear her heart beating.

“So what is your favourite colour?” I ask her.
“White, just like snow. I love when it snows. It’s beautiful,” she exclaimed with joy.
“Just like you,” I reply, caressing her frigid skin.
She smiles into my hand, “What’s your favourite colour?”
“This,” I reply with a smirk and gash the knife into her neck.
I look deep into her teary eyes and watch as her jaw drops. A piercing scream escapes from her mouth - the sound of pain. Her face is still, as her skin becomes paler and paler until she physically becomes one with her surroundings - her favourite colour.