One Color, One Word: Latenight Prose

Her name was always on the tip of someone’s tongue, in the back of someone’s mind, in the cracks of someone’s broken heart. Her name was Hope, and she believed it to be one of those cliches where her parents gave her the name after trying to get pregnant for so long. Still, she walked the street in a crimson dress and a crimson headband around her forehead like she owned the world.
In fact, that’s exactly what she did own: the world. The whole world was tied to “Hope.” The earthlings hoped to do this and hoped to do that.
It only killed her when she felt a bit of pain.
When she felt that she was being dragged by her light brown hair across the globe.
When people were using her too much.
When people put their dreams and helping hands aside only to hope.
When people even forgot to just hope.
That was when her brown eyes turned crimson, too, with a passion to circle the hopeless world one more time.


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