Scarlett

Scarlett. Her mother said she was named for the fiery blood that ran through her veins. The passion that burned inside her so deep that it had to come out. And it did^[1]. But not in the right way. Now she was in an asylum for murder. She imagined her mother’s face when she saw the the dead body lying beneath her feet. The body was covered in blood and so was she. Scarlett blood. That’s who she was now Scarlett -^[2] black^[3] and red - for who she was and what she creates. And  everyday she is in her room screaming. The madness going deeper inside her. No remorse, just madness.  No one wants to visit her because they live in fear of her. And she lives in fear of them. Why she did it, no one, ever knew. But there was a girl - no one knew her name or why she was always around Scarlett. But she was there. Always watching.^[4] Everyone thought that somehow she could hear the meaning behind the screams. The pleas for help. She wrote a note to Scarlett one day. It had one question on it, Why did you do it?^[5] Through her meaningless stutters she could make out one word -^[6] revenge. Against who?^[7], she asked, but Scarlett had already gotten distracted. Later that night she heard her screaming again. But this time she was screaming one thing over and over again. This time^[8] you could tell what she was saying, Black’s fault^[9]. Meaningless to most. The girl understood though. She meant her skin. It was her skin’s fault. And somehow because of that she killed a white girl. Somehow^[10] her skin had made her upset. Her black skin. But the girl knew now that it wasn’t her who started it. It was her skin. Her black skin with her scarlett blood.

By Maya Gambhir