pink to red

This is a piece I wrote for my Writer’s Craft class. We had to write 4 pieces; one which we would have edited and hand in, and three others that would go in our portfolio to only be seen by our teacher. I almost used this as my final one, but eventually decided on another. I still really like this piece, so I decided to share it here.

It’s something called a Frozen Moment, which is basically when you write about a very short and specific moment in time. For this one, I wrote about the final hug of a couple who are broken up, which isn’t explicitly stated in the story, so take their last embrace how you will. Is one of them dying? Did someone cheat? Who knows! Hope you like it!

– – –

Two people can only get so close. His arms are wrapped around me, holding me tightly and pulling me towards him, with a grip steady and strong. Two people can only get so close and eventually we will melt together; one body with two minds. Our breaths break the silence in slow succession, with our heartbeats following suit. Nothing else is said; no words to clutter this moment. Normally, a silence like this would ask to be broken, but the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lulls me into a dreamlike state. I feel his arms tensing around my body, his hands tracing patterns on my side, and his torso pressed against mine. The smell of his cologne drifts to my nose and envelopes me in its familiarity. If only for a moment, the world appears pink. But soon, the pink intensifies to a deep red. A red like the blood in my mouth from biting my tongue, holding back the urge to ask to stay here and to stay together. A heat creeps up from my neck to the back of my head as I am reminded that eventually, his breath in my hair and my face on his chest will be nothing but faint whispers of feelings soon forgotten.

Before the sensation of his arms around me begins to soften, he squeezes my torso tightly. My heart sinks as I realize this is the fizzle of a romance that came with a bang. We are slowly burning out with the release of this embrace. As if his breath in my hair was breathing life into me, a fatigue washes over my entire being as we separate. My shoulders feel heavy, along with my eyelids, which remain closed as we pull farther apart. I do not wish to see the look on his face, I do not wish to burn the visual of this memory into my mind, but I imagine it all the same. I emerge from the bubble of his cologne and now the harmony which was our breaths intertwined clash together. Our movements are lethargic; empty and unwilling, as if we truly had melted together and were now unsticking ourselves.

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