Scarlet Blood

 Scarlet entered a world of death. Her birth killing the only person that would’ve showered her existence in relentless and undenying love. When her father held her in his shaking arms for the first time, he did not gaze at her with loving fartherly affection, but rather; disgust. He did not see his daughter. Instead he saw the monster that stole his wife’s life. His sight was blinded by the dark scarlet hue that stained his wife’s cold corpse, the sheets and floors, but mostly, his daughter. His daughter bathed in his wife’s blood like a cloak of sin.  He named her Scarlet, so she would always bare the weight of her mother’s scarlet blood for as long as she lived.

However, her father grew to love her. As she aged, he forgave her, but still bore a great grief for the loss of his soul mate. Scarlet was neglected of affection as a child. Her father tried to raise her as best he could within his depressed stupor, but his efforts were always lacking. They were very poor and never had enough to eat. Scarlet grew up feeling worthless. To make matters worse, it seemed the older she got, the uglier her appearance became. By twenty, she was still an unmarried maiden. Scarlet was envious of young lovers. She wanted to be important; but despite these secret longings, Scarlet learned to see herself out of the picture. She lived for her father. She just wanted him to be happy. He’d suffered such pain and loss because of her, a life of servitude was the least she could do. Still, Scarlet couldn’t help the small worm of longing that clutched her heart, whispered with each breath, shed with each tear—to be loved.

One man, however did notice Scarlet. Everyday he’d watch her flit hastily shop from shop, selling and buying. He admired her strength. But he himself was poor, mute, and not a sight to be seen. He was unaccomplished, and had no home. He spent his time drawing chalk portraits across the streets of London and Polishing rich men’s shoes. In admiration, he spent three days depicting a detailed picture of Scarlet. But when Scarlet saw the picture, tears filled her eyes, and she spat upon the ground where the portrait was illustrated. While the man looked upon his picture as unique and beautiful, all Scarlet saw was her hideous face, and felt as if the man mocking appearances as the rest of the village did. The man could not explain himself due to his inability to speak, so the misunderstanding left the man broken hearted. From then on he watched Scarlet from afar.

Scarlet carried out a meaningless existence, cooking, cleaning, and working. But one day, for no particular reason, Scarlet’s father grew very ill. He was too weak to leave bed. Scarlet sought out medication for her father, but found the price much too steep for her low, measly income.  Scarlet was terrified. She knew no other life besides her dad. She could never marry, for just a glimpse of her reflection would cause you to cringe. Day after day her father grew weaker, till Scarlet could take it no more. After an appalling un-profitabe day when not a single person bought her knitting’s, Scarlet threw herself upon the muddy street and wished for death to find her.

“My dear, don’t lie upon the ground so, people shall mistake you for a swine and take you to the butchers for Christmas dinner.”  A voice croaked out of nowhere. Scarlet slightly lifted her head, and squinted at old hag peering down at her.

“I see no reason as to why I should leave this spot. I wouldn’t mind becoming Christmas dinner, for I have nothing to live for. My Father is dying and I cannot save him. The medication is a cost only royalty could pay.” Scarlet uttered, tears stinging her eyes.  Despite all things, she loved her dad. And she couldn’t bare the thought of being responsible for his death as well as her mother’s.

“I see. Your quite the unfortunate girl aren’t you? Don’t suppose a face so ugly could marry. And you’re getting so old. Pity.”

Scarlet didn’t take this offensively. She knew the old woman was just stating facts…however her words immersed Scarlet in self-pity.