*Green Space*
= 0
The grey has taken over
The big green planet became concrete
The number stood central to the chaos, the eye of the storm. Her eyes darted from mother to child. The world hung in limbo only to be broken by a quickening scream. I had stayed too long already. Longer than necessary, longer than usual. The White number had left taking the life line with her, severing the bond of mother and child.
The room was red. A paint fight that had gotten out of control. Pictures danced across the walls and the incriminating evidence was plastered to the occupants. They wore gowns of cochineal. But the number was still white. A white blur eating up the west blocks staircase, a red ribbon flying behind her. A stolen lifeline. That was her first time, and definitely not her last.
*The Red Ribbon*
The red ribbons would be stolen a total of 36 times
The second time I met her was at midnight. Old friends meeting secretly at a known location. She glanced up, I had been spotted. Instant recognition took me surprise but an assuring nod told me what I needed to know. For now. White was older now, her black hair trickled down her back to her hips, the laborious task of cutting it forgotten. She crept around the corner, her face concealed by the screams of crowning. A white princess attending the mother’s coronation. The red no longer bothered her; she glazed over the murder scene and gazed hungrily at her prize.
My cue
I chucked the baby in
The number had perfected her moves, quick as a bullet; she shot in and sliced off the discarded shell of the umbilical cord.
*Storage Space*
I later found her stash of ribbons
They were folded into a draw of her duck egg French dresser
A little girl’s ribbons
Once again she was gone, no sooner had I heard the crescendo of another soprano, White had fled. The tendrils of tar falling from her head chased behind her, a race between them and the ribbon. The blur of white across the grey corridors was seen again.