Carmen had never understood superstition, never believing in anything otherworldly or ethereal. She believed that everything could chalk up to science in one way or another, or at least a reasonable solution that made very logical sense.
She lived in a good sized town, with large farms and plots of land scattered for miles all around. Barns were more common than actual houses, coming in varieties and shades of beautiful reds. She herself lived on a farm alone, tending to her herb gardens and flower beds, occasionally going into town and selling them to her neighbors or friends for a bit of extra cash to buy new paints and brushes for the old farm she had always planned to restore. “Now Carmen,” Her father had said, many years ago, when she’d been no more than six years old. “I expect you to always take care of this old place. Make it beautiful, something to be proud of.” She’d smiled, her grin wide, holding her fathers hand as she promised with all of her heart. Carmen had managed to keep that promise, even twenty years later. She’d always taken care of the place, cleaning and repainting the beautiful barn with red. Red, red, it had always been red. Carmen loathed the color. She had never understood why barns had to be such a hideous color of red. Sure, there were different shades of red, lights and darks, but it got so boring after awhile. She’d seen enough red for at least four lifetimes, and she was desperate for a change. For the past year or so Carmen had been collecting different buckets of paints and brushes, working in secret to paint her farm a beautiful crisp white color. The people of the town had looked down upon her, shaking their heads as she came into the paint shop, hands full of jars of coins to pay. You see, everyone in the town knew only a fool would paint their barn a different color other than red. They’d blamed it on luck, saying that red was the only color that would ward off bad spirits and intentions, and if your barn was any color other than red, you would be forced to deal with the consequences. Of course, Carmen had never believed it. Her farm wasn’t going to famish and wither away simply due to the color, it didn’t make any logical sense. So for months she worked, painting and painting and painting. It nearly drove her insane, painting individual flowers and vines, twisting around the large beautiful structure. (not done)
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AuthorAdeline Colton Archives
November 2018
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