Red

The more she was pressing it, the more the red pencil was giving its colour to the dress in the colouring book her mother bought for her. Feeling the pain of the pressure on her right hand and delicate fingers, made her tired. She knew as soon as she stopped, she would feel her pulse in her hand, her fingers turning red as she would gasp.

But the red was looking at her in the eye, almost through her, to the bull inside her. She felt the passion red was providing her with, a crush she only felt in that moment but didn't realise at first.

The red was as sharp as a knife cutting through butter.
The red was as strong as blood.
The red was as irresistible as the duel between a Taurus and a bright coloured piece of fabric.

She stopped the colouring, turned the page over and saw the fierce print her pencil left with the force of her hand, the red was screaming at her with its colour and extravagancy.

Going back to the same page and meeting the dress made her realise red was her favourite colour... every time she looked at red, she recalled the moment of meeting her true love which caused her to develop a feeling of passion. As simple as its name, her emotions were as pure as red.