Gary writes “Grit Fiction,” because life isn’t always smooth. His stories are characterized by wit, wordplay, and plot twists that will leave the reader guessing.

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Red

Red washes over my head.

Like blood that is so much thicker than this water.

The color of grief.

Not Rage Red. Not Squeeze Your Eyes Shut Tight Red.

Red like a debt I owe. I can never repay it, this I know.

Red like a neon sign that will forever flash “VACANCY.”

Red like a heart. With a human-sized hole in it.

“No, not that red,” is what she would have said.

My face is wet. I blink back tears. My sight, like the water, slowly clears.

Maybe it’s a shade of Hummingbird Throat Red.

Or Woodpecker Head Red.

Cardinal Feather Red.

She loved birds.

Hibiscus Red.

Desert Rose Red.

Geranium Red.

She loved flowers.

The water runs clearer and clearer. I dry my face, and look into the mirror.

Now I see the right red, on top of my head.

Her red.

The color of solace.