Red Writing

A microfiction piece inspired by my tiny human.

By Holly Richards

As the heavy, wet wool strings swipe wildly from left to right across the smooth hardwood, Red stays tucked into the corner of the carefully placed shelf lined with all sorts of toys. Scalding hot water that smells of lemons splashes him with every pass.

I am not sure how much more I can take, thinks Red.

Two Christmases ago, Red came neatly packaged in a box built for greatness. There were 700 family members who patiently waited for their boy to put them together. This is all they have ever wanted; to be assembled intricately into their creation. Red came neatly tucked in a box which was destined to be Iron Man.

Today, there is no Iron Man. Red can only imagine scattered family members who must survive the horror of Avry’s mother’s cleaning schedule. 

Holly, Avry’s mom, moved the toy shelf today. “Well look at that,” she said, “we have been searching for you.” 

Holly’s enormous peach coloured paw came barrelling down. Light became darkness, and Red was lifted swiftly from his safe corner where he’d spent the last two years.

“Avry,” Holly bellowed through the house. “Look what I found while I was cleaning your room.”  Avry took Red eagerly into his hands and ran to his Lego shelf.

Alas, Red was reunited with his family. Firmly placed in the abdomen of Iron Man. The piece was now complete; Red’s family was together again.