Eyes for you, only

It was a bright and sunny day. I feel that is very important. Very bright, as the sun beat down upon head and hair alike. Most certainly not the sort of day where I’d hide under my blankets thinking of some of my favourite things. The kind of day where the blue birds chirp and children hear songs of mischief. They say there is often a calm before the storm, and the eye of the hurricane is where no wind blows. Perhaps the storm had yet to come, or the day was in fact within its most fearsome portion. But for all that it mattered, it was a bright and sunny day.
That the young ones sprawled on the grass remained uncooked was only attributable to a lack of oil. With the mighty sun in the sky taking even from the once green grass, the children sagged and pushed their swings in a futile manner, hoping to catch the lightest breeze. I felt something of a hero, standing behind my rickety table laid with its green and white check cloth. The concrete of the little road cutting through the lanes of quaint little houses slowly baked, the air above shimmering ever so slightly. The houses were all the same then, triangular roofs painted brown over white block structures. Where the owners fought for a touch of character was in their lawns, each more well kept than the last. Finely cut grass with the smell that had once been so intoxicating now no more noticeable than that of Granny’s tobacco. There should have been flowers, but as wonderful as bright and sunny days might be, this wasn’t the sort that has sparrows taking leisurely dips in birdbaths. The kisses of the sun had left everything striking, refreshing yet bare.
The car drove in smoothly enough, coming into the driveway across the road. Bright red it was, glowing in a manner both arrogant and enrapturing. Might have been a Mini, but I never have known much of cars. Wishing I did changes few things, for the car is just another small detail. The door swung open and she stepped out.
Been here long enough to know just about everyone in the neighbourhood, but I ain’t never seen her before.
Didn’t seem to matter though, the others knew her well enough, smiles flicking across their lazy faces as she started to cross. It was only then that I got a good look at her. If her car had been bright red, what she wear would have plain knocked a bull unconscious with rage. But where the car had looked arrogant, she shone. Not like a stop sign, oh no. Like a light from the heavens, in that red. There was more to her truly, but the overwhelming sensation of it made me indifferent to it all. What really doesn’t matter is beauty. I know that now. It doesn’t matter because she was the very epitome of it. There are some things that might depend on perspective, but what walked here was the very heart and soul of beautiful, her every movement capturing the sagging lips of the lawns denizens and pulling them from ear to ear. She went to Jan who sat on her little rocking horse next door, ruffled her hair a bit. And the air was full of arrows; green they were and shot from the eyes of every single sun-drenched fool who lay out there. But they turned to nought well before they reached her, guarded as she was in her flawless aura of fire. Jan whispered a word, and it was then that she looked at me.
To this day they tell me it was all wrong. No woman has eyes that are red, was just the sun reflected in them. But I know what I saw, and they held me there. My hand found the reassuring sides of my table and held it tight, the feel of a splinter cutting through my palm doing nothing for the trance I found myself in. She unbent her back, and started towards me. It was a long while until I realised she was standing right before me, saying something. But the scent drowned every word, the smell of burnt flowers, when all their fragrance escapes in one short burst. Only this burst would not end, it was a part of her, swirling itself around me, suffocating me. Only when she laughed and started to walk away did I realise what she had said.
Every movement hurt, as the jar tipped its contents into a paper cup that felt too fragile in my clammy hands. The once strong scent of lemons was lost as I filled it and tried to get around the table towards her. She was walking away, I could feel it more than I could see it. The others saw all right, with their eyes fixed on nothing else, but I was pulled. Her back covered in red was moving away, and I darted after it, pushing one foot in front of another with an effort altogether inhuman. She had crossed now, and was opening the boot of her car, the reds merging and twisting, one utter perfection, the other a loyal subject. They faded, and for a moment they became one. The moment when two reds met to become black, they never told me that happened in art class. The only other thing I remembered was the cool splash on my face, and the scent of a lemon.
It’s a terrible thing, and him so young. He’s seen but 12 summers, and that’s all he’ll ever see.
They said it was terrible. Others said I was lucky to still be there. The truck driver was a hero, braking when he did. No, he was a monster; look at what he’d done. Driving like so in a residential area. To me he was just the truck driver. I never learnt what became of him. And I never learnt what became of my lady in red. But it was no terrible thing. For I could still hear, and I heard how they all search for beauty in their lives. I had seen it. Truly. And whatever else the world might have shown me, what might have compared? I was blessed.
I have children now. The universe works its wonders, and they worked for me. So I had those things men crave. My family, my daughter. She’s the talk of the town, or so I hear. A child so beautiful, the like of which has never been seen. It doesn’t surprise me. I know who the mother was. And one day, when she’s old enough, I shall have her decked in red. She shall wear red, and she shall smell of flowers on fire.

That, I swear, when the lemons sing to the water and sugar, my spawn shall go forth into the world, dressed in hells inferno.