The colour red

Kneeling on the bathroom floor, the tiles were painfully cold on my bare legs. I shuffled as much as I could in the restricted space to ease myself onto the soft padding of the bathmat. My upper body was beginning to protest at having to hang over the side of the bath. The warm water fired out of the shower head and I felt it trickle over the back of my exposed neck, washing away the red stains. Rubbing my eyes, I opened them slowly, seeing my red tinged finger tips. Looking down I could see the droplets darkening the hard white surface, the motion of the water causing them to run down the sides of the bath and leaving a trail as they diluted, forming a pool of red tinged water lingering in the bottom of the bath. The slightly blocked drain stopped it from going where it wanted to go. My head was becoming heavy as the water pulled it down with the weight of it saturating my hair.

My hair was long, so the ends were mingling into the frustrated scarlet water, attempting to propel itself down the drain. I jerked my head backwards, pulling myself up to sitting and with it propelling the sopping weight of my hair upwards.  It brought with it the red tinged water which fanned out, splattering streaks over the recently cleaned tiles; as if I’d just flicked a brush dipped in paint at the walls like I’d always had an inkling to do. I stood up shakily, the pins and needles clawing their way up my legs after being jammed in the tiny floor space between the bath and the wall. Reaching out to pick up the still running showerhead, I hosed down the tiles around the bath, having to full on scrub to get rid of any traces of the oozing red substance.

I wrapped a towel around my dripping hair while I waited for the last of the red tinged water to disappear down the drain, crouching down to wipe up one or two drops of the thick red substance which had hit the bathroom floor earlier. Rushing through to my room to check the time, I hurriedly scooped up the stained sheet which was still stretched out over my floor, shedded my equally smeared t-shirt and bundled the two together into the washing machine.

Standing in front of the mirror I begun the whole ‘after shower’ process: moisturiser, untangling hair, make-up and so on. As I built my outside the house persona I began to relax a bit, feeling like I could tackle the rest of the day now. I switched on the hairdryer, letting the hot air warm my scalp and navigating it to chase away the droplets of water which clung to each individual strand of hair. I watched in the mirror as the shimmer of my new hair colour became more evident, the light above my head giving it a fiery halo.

Finally done I stood back and admired my efforts. New dress, make-up carefully applied and a new identity as a red-head. One last glance at the clock told me I was late. I shrugged my jacket on, slipped my feet into my shoes and, finally, tossed the empty bottle of red hair dye into the bin before heading out into the world a new person.

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