Flooded in Red Memories

Blood.

That rich red made me despise what was once my favorite color. It always was, because it was the one that represented Mom and Dad's love story. How in awe they were of the red leaves that'd branch off of trees in autumn with interlocked hands, or the bright sunset that made the entire sky a watercolor when they held each other's embrace.

How I got the name "Arizona" because of the red rocks they were surrounded by there when my dad proposed and also how my mom's rosy cheeks in the hot weather deepened as he got down on one knee and presented her with a ring, before her smile spread from ear to ear.

Their love story began with red, and I thought that's how I wanted it to be from then on. Red, red, forever red. But I was wrong. I couldn't be more wrong than this. Now I absolutely hated it because it ended with red too, when an ending was never in their plans.

I hate the leaves. I hate the sky. I hate intense colored rocks, I hate my name and I hate rosy cheeks. I hate red.

I hate how it would ooze down innocent arms in the way a snake would slither, and even though it didn't do anything else, fear already rose in my body once I knew it was there. I hate how it would flow down on their veins and not in them.

I hate how the more it piled up and the more they whimpered in pain, the more I knew that soon enough those stings would be the last they felt when alive. The blood went from a shade of strawberries to black cherries, darker, darker, and darker — until their bodies completely collapsed in the soil.

Stiffness disappeared as they let go of everything. By a snap, they fell too far into darkness, conscious of nothing. They left zero behind for anyone to pull them back up into reality. Their grip was gone. They didn't breathe anymore.

I would take red in any other way, as long as it wasn't this. I mean that. I really do even after all these years. I promise to God, but it's not like that made any difference.

But there's one thing that I hate more than this. It's that calling out for me was their last word.

I was their last word. I was their last worry.

"Riz, you have to get out of here!" Mama had said.

"Go, Riz!" Papa added. My feet were still planted hesitantly into the dirt that was nearly wet enough to be mud. I remember back then; wanting to sink into it and disappear. A thought that any other nine year old would never have. A thought that a nine year old wasn't supposed to think.

"Riz, you have to run! Go!" Mama insisted. There was more concern in her voice than before, but it wasn't for her life. The officials that were hired to carry out the law were surrounding her even tighter, a knife already scratching at her neck. Yet through all of that chaos, her concern was on me. Actually, that can be said about both of them.

"Right now! Listen to me, Arizona!" Their throats were slashed, and their commands came out weaker yet somehow more urgent than I've ever seen them in my entire life as they fell to the ground with a wince. Their hands went automatically to the open wound, coloring their palms. The strong and laid back kind of people were no longer strong and laid back. There was no unison to them, just struggle.

I found it in me to listen to them. I don't know how I managed to do that to this day, but I took off running out of the closure of the forest. I did it blindly, tears attached to my cheeks and my eyes swollen red.

Red could never get worse, and it betrayed me overnight. It was supposed to be my safe haven. My cloud nine. My trust.

It was supposed to be.

"Shouldn't we go after her? She's from the parents only in the 55 percentile and she's supposedly already nine years old. They hid their existence and a child for over a decade. They were breaking the law, and she's the proof!"

"It's not necessary. She's a kid and has nowhere to go. She'll die before she can get anywhere. We can pronounce her dead to the higher ups. Let it be. Our work is done."

These people were appointed with the responsibility to keep the citizens safe, and though my lungs were heaving and my ears popped from the contradiction I overheard, I didn't stop running.

I didn't stop running in case they changed their minds.

Regardless of their decision, "55ers" were never considered people. You have to rank at 100 to be human. Anything below, and that's an animal gone wild that's not supposed to live.

I'm an animal gone wild. The last one of my kind.

---

It's been 14 years.

14 years since my parents died, 14 years since I've had to make way all on my own, and 14 years since I've lived discreetly from the rest of the world, like my existence was some kind of glitch in the system. I guess that is what it is.

I've lived in what my parents left behind; a miniature cave underground by the river, underneath a bridge. I'm sure everyone in the city has passed by at least once in their lifetime, but it wasn't interesting enough to take up their time to open. Time is currency they weren't willing to offer.

That's what my parent's intentions were when they built it. Hidden, but in plain sight. For as long as we were in there, we've never gotten caught. Nobody ever cared about a stupid covered-hole in the ground, and because of that nobody ever invaded our space — or my space, is what it is now, sad to say.

That's why I can't help but to deeply regret that they got caught: there's nobody to blame but myself. They would only leave this "humble abode" to care for me, and raise me as well as they could with the resources they could barely have access to. To make treasure of other people's trash, whether that be food, clothing, tools and whatever else they could manage to find out there.

They'd cover up their faces with face masks, sunglasses, and baseball caps and hide their bodies in baggy hoodies no matter the weather outside. They'd sit down by me, Mom planting a kiss on my right cheek, and my dad on my left. Then they'd say, "I love you, Little Yu. We'll be home soon. Just stay put, okay darling?" And I'd nod and promise them that I would.

One of the times, they didn't come home at the time they usually did and though they couldn't have made it more clear that it was strictly forbidden, I didn't keep my promise. I climbed out of the place we called home, and followed the call of the river.

It's the first time I've ever done such a thing. The most I've ever seen of the outside world was the view from inside when they opened the door to leave, and it was always the same view I've seen over and over again. The only difference I was able to make was the temperature of the air depending on the day of the year.

For a period of months, the cold air would choke my lungs and I could see my breath when I exhaled, and for another period, sweat would form at my temples to drip down the side of my face. Sometimes, it was raining and drips of water would trickle from the bridge above us, and other times, the breeze was the most refreshing thing I could ever feel.

This was the air of Colorado. Where they moved after marrying in Arizona. I used to wonder what the air felt like there, but I don't even wanna know at this point. Here, it was dry but came through with versatility. Though I didn't see much diversity in the people because everyone was by law according to the same line, I could tell already that I liked it.

My first walk in the open air proved that too. The flow of the water, the bright blue of the sky, the green grasses, gardens of flowers, and tall trees, they were all beautiful in their own way, and that's how we appreciated it when we looked at it. It compels the mind and the eye.

And at nine years old, I thought to myself, why can't humans celebrate their differences? Why doesn't society consider me to be pretty? What makes nothing, nothing, and what makes everything, everything anyway?

The river I followed took me to the edge of a secluded forest. My admiration was untamable. I found it unfair that people were able to see this everyday.

My gentle footsteps of bare feet lead me deeper into it where I came face to face with the violence that red could have. It was where victims were thrown aside in the past, improperly buried and decaying. I didn't realize just how scary the world is for people like me until I saw it for myself.

Tall nose bridge. Exotic eye shape. Luscious lips. Strong facial bone structures. Voluminous hair. That's been the only definition of beautiful for decades. There might've been minor tweaks over the years, but it's only if it's drastic that I'd, or my parents could've been considered pretty according to the set trends that must be followed these days.

We had flat noses, bland eyes shapes, and thin lips. Our faces were rounded with nothing like prominent cheek bones or sharp jawlines, and our hair fell from our scalp like it was attached to it for as long as it did.

None of that could pass the scan that the government forces on us to make up our files and really, there's nothing that's meant to escape them. Maybe their 55 out of 100 grade was pushing it too. Who knows?

In the history books, so I've heard, differences are what caused disputes, downfalls, and weakness, and the world evolved into a place that couldn't embrace uniqueness, but that didn't want to have any. The standards are recorded out there for everyone to know, and the officials — they know everything. Everything from the north, south, east and west.

Except me. I was born in secret. Raised in secret, and until now, I was living in secret. I didn't have any choice, and my numbers were never ran during my hiding. I'm not a full idiot though. My rank would be around the same as my parents, who weren't supposed to let me exist. Maybe worse.

If I didn't want to follow the final fate of my parents, I had to follow at least a piece of it if I wanted to walk the earth. Yes, I'm alive, yet never was I living. That's how it's supposed to be, if there's anything me that's "supposed to be".

Now, I was the one who would get up in the early mornings, covering myself with face masks, sunglasses, baseball caps, and loose fitting hoodies. I'd walk on the side of the roads, closer to the shade, so the half cloud-covered sun wouldn't attack me like a spotlight, and I'd avoid eye contact with my eyes fixed to the sidewalk. If I did have the courage to look up, walking billboard ads were all that made up the planet, and I was truly far from any of them.

How intimidating.

I've been targeting a small café for food recently. They've been throwing out a bunch of pastries and berries that are borderline between good and passed expiration, which is still edible in my desperation, so I've been making treasure out of that trash out back in the alleyway. I was pretty thankful for it too because if it wasn't there, I'd be having much harder of a time. It made things the slightest bit easier.

I thought I was allowed to be content. I thought for a moment, I had a chance to be kinda happy, even if it was only a little thing and not to be considered an achievement. I had the chance to relax, curled up in the place I called home, munching on sweets like anyone else's day in. I could allow myself to breathe, instead of store it up inside like it would be too loud that someone could hear it.

That was dumb. A girl like me can't rest. Her guard can never be let down. She's to be alert at all times, and I failed to do that. My parents would've been so disappointed in me if they were here.

I tried not to focus too much on it at first, but it was eventually unavoidable like everything else was. The thunder outside was picking up in volume, and the rain itself wasn't some sweet pitter patter to the cement, but came harshly, as if they were no opposite than golf-ball sized hail. It was angry and hostile, and it was going to pour that out without anyone able to change it.

The rivers trickling was getting closer to me. It wasn't off into the distance as it's always been, but was sticking closer to what I've called my roof and ceiling. Still, I could only silently pray that the storm will pass and reassure myself that in a few moments it would be over. The sun would come back and hug me under the shadows. I could act like it never happened. That's what I begged for.

Yet not everything you beg for is granted to you. This one definitely wasn't.

From above, water began to leak in. The place that gave off a little bit of warmth during cold seasons lost its fire, and inside and outside wouldn't make a difference when it came to temperature. The river was overflowing from its usual runway.

I didn't want to move. I didn't at first. I remained coiled in a ball of shock and counted slowly to three before I made a decision. I wanted to give the rain even a small period of time to change its decision and shine mercy on me, but it wasn't coming. Deep down inside me, I knew it wasn't going to. It was still pouring, rising to soak my body.

"Arizona, if you don't get out of here, you're going to die. You're going to drown." I mumbled to myself as I played with the door to open up. When panicking, it made the basic tasks so much more difficult they seemed impossible, acting like I didn't do this everyday. I'd rather feel numb than feel like this. I needed a fresh state of mind. "All these years would be a waste, Arizona. Is that what you want to happen?"

Scolding myself was the most I could do as water raised higher up my skin. Despite the tension, the lock did jolt free and the outside world came back for me. I've never seen a storm this intense and this wicked that it could take my breath away from underground, yet here I was, right in the middle of one, and worse, nowhere to go within it.

But I had to find somewhere. And fast.

I refused the direction of the trees. Last time I went there a color was changed in me forever and my heart couldn't even beat the same no matter how much time is to pass.

I went opposite of the river's pointed destination, the other direction of the route that I took so many years ago, that lead into miniature dirt paths between small villages. My face was uncovered, exposed and naked for people to see when I ran out in a rush, and I tightened my hoodie strings that I was still wearing from my last exit to cover it the most I could.

Not many people were out in the bad weather so that helped, but sneaking around on turf that wasn't mine — is it possible that that doesn't bring someone anxiety? Most of the resident's curtains were drawn, and it wasn't as terrifying to get by them, but there were always those people that enjoyed watching the rain pour or smelling its scent by open windows, and that did make it a hassle. I did make it though, thankfully.

When I slipped deeper into the darkness, I had to let myself break. This isn't how my parents raised me to be, but I've been holding this in for years, and I never got the chance to explode. I didn't mourn their losses, nor ponder on the very situation I've been growing up in, but once one more thing had to make it worse when I didn't think that it could, it toppled the entire house of cards back into nothing. They'd be left to be set up again, and I'd be here to break down from the very beginning of the story.

My hair stuck to my cheeks when my tears provided them the glue they needed to do that, and I wiped it aside back behind my ears. My hoodie had fell back behind my shoulders and my face was shoved into my arms that balanced onto my knees.

"When's the part that life gets good?" I said to myself. I bit my lip to avoid my cries from making too much noise, and my feet skimmed into the dirt and rock I was sitting in, up against the wall.

"Who are you? Are you okay?" I froze up to another voice. It was one of a woman.

My eyes were wide open but I stayed extremely still. It was too dark to make out my face and I knew I couldn't make out theirs if I wanted to, and that's the sole thing that could buy me a chance.

"Hey, Miss. Are you alright?" She added on, nearing closer to me. The jingle of keys swayed in one of her hands and she had the leash of her curious dog in the other. I didn't risk looking up at either one of them. This moment meant life or death and as much as there were several times that I wanted to die, coming up against it filled me with horror. I had it in me to have to fight to stay alive.

The woman bent down. She had her hand at the bottom of my chin until I was forced to look away from my feet, and she managed to find my gaze. One more additional tear fell down my cheek when she did; whether it was out of fear, depression, failure, or a giving up spirit, I have no idea. It could've been all of them for all I knew, and her gasp when she saw me made me even more puzzled. I couldn't tell what it meant.I fell face down, so flat my face got covered in mud. My hands gripped both of the cuffs of her pant legs, and my voice was shaky as I wished for her compassion. Nothing more and nothing less.

"Ma'am. Please don't kill me. I'll do anything."