The red fever


“I love your whole look, the red hair, and makeup

beautiful, where did you get it done?” she asked me

“oh thank you, but it is all me” i answered

sourly she drew a smile and walked silently beside me to dance

the dance hall was filled with girls, full makeup yet dresses short on fabric, my best friend came, took me by the hand and started dancing, we danced amidst our friends from college,

they got used to me in a certain image, from library to lecture halls to the small coffee shop not so far from the library, running here and there, lab sessions and due dates, and to see me in a peachy gown, hair loose, smokey eyes has plundered their faces of color and their eyes of perception, my only explanation to this, is that one don’t believe in virtuosity of self unless if it was of it’s own.

meritoriously i turned a blind eye to them all, and joyfully with all the strength i had in me i danced, my heels ached and i kept dancing, they could’v never guessed the source of my joy, their piercing eye protruded my body, a shabby try to bewilder me into self-abasement.

i still remember back from my childhood when i used to cheer for the weird kid in the movies, for i always believed in exceptional characters, in diversity, and in the right of one to do what ever one desires with his life, i never comprehended the concept of war, or why would anyone want power over another’s life, isn’t it troublesome enough for one to have power over self.

for that same believe, the emanation of my first act of rebellion over society took hold, rock music, and black makeup, as i grew up, my rebellion grew to a more of an intellectual act, just to know more, learn more, enrich my soul with more than just what people like to say or hear, to be more than just a mere entity, more than just to live and dye, but to live superior in my thoughts and believes, though that shaped me into what i exactly intended to be, yet made me inferior to any social skills, that i was secretly proud of.

my second act of rebellion was turning redhead, a rebel has to own the look now doesn’t she, i dyed it once, twice, trice, till i lost count, and the red hair became a part of me, as my intellectual needs and lack of communication skills has. there must be a reason i used to and still say, there must be a reason why i am here, there must be a reason why we were created differently.

those who relish in their differences attract me, those who clasp their differences warms me, and those who leverage them fascinate me.

and i will always be that friend with the red hair who spends her days off reading.


Author: malak94abouras

i never asked to love the words, they have loved me and i have then fallen

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