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Description
I saw a man wearing red today; a red sweatshirt with a fat white logo running in block letters down his sleeve. It matched his baggy sweatpants, but not his white and blue sneakers that sprung him forward as he jogged by.

My eyes followed him as he ran, forgetting about the half eaten bowl of oatmeal I had sitting on my lap. I watched the ripple of the wind whip his hair back, the hard determined flush of his cheeks and the smooth yet loose gait of a man who was used to running.

Brave, was my first thought. He must be to wear such a bold branding colour. But then I remembered, as I always do. Things were different now; the war was over, the enemy was gone and the younger generation had reinvented the meaning of the colour red.

Red didn't used to be the colour of blood, or passion, or whatever young people today think. Red used to be an insult; a cutting jab at your loyalty, ideals and self.
"What you mean this war is pointless?" They would say. "Are you a Red or something? Are you one of these communist bastards then?" You wouldn't react like you would today. You wouldn't snap something back, or shrug off the insult. You would reel, swallow and stand tall as your pride was crushed under the heel of another man's tongue. You see, that was all you do…

Words didn't work after someone invoked the brand 'red'. You could do nothing but mutter a quiet denial and back away from the steel eyed glares that bolted themselves onto you. You couldn't protest and you couldn't try to explain or argue your point, because suddenly your point was that of the ultimate enemy. That of a distant super power headed by the hammer and sickle.

Red didn't used to be what it is today. Today it is the colour of a football team or two, the colour of the first stripe on the flag, the colour of the Republican Party and the colour of Santa's coat. It's a colour that people wear now when they are out jogging. It's a colour they don't even think about.

I looked back down at my oatmeal. I like it better this way. I like meaningless colours. I take a scoop from my bowl. If only all the colours were like that. If only I, like the others, could forget all those meanings.

Description
I saw a man wearing red today; a red sweatshirt with a fat white logo running in block letters down his sleeve. It matched his baggy sweatpants, but not his white and blue sneakers that sprung him forward as he jogged by.

My eyes followed him as he ran, forgetting about the half eaten bowl of oatmeal I had sitting on my lap. I watched the ripple of the wind whip his hair back, the hard determined flush of his cheeks and the smooth yet loose gait of a man who was used to running.

Brave, was my first thought. He must be to wear such a bold branding colour. But then I remembered, as I always do. Things were different now; the war was over, the enemy was gone and the younger generation had reinvented the meaning of the colour red.

Red didn't used to be the colour of blood, or passion, or whatever young people today think. Red used to be an insult; a cutting jab at your loyalty, ideals and self.
"What you mean this war is pointless?" They would say. "Are you a Red or something? Are you one of these communist bastards then?" You wouldn't react like you would today. You wouldn't snap something back, or shrug off the insult. You would reel, swallow and stand tall as your pride was crushed under the heel of another man's tongue. You see, that was all you do…

Words didn't work after someone invoked the brand 'red'. You could do nothing but mutter a quiet denial and back away from the steel eyed glares that bolted themselves onto you. You couldn't protest and you couldn't try to explain or argue your point, because suddenly your point was that of the ultimate enemy. That of a distant super power headed by the hammer and sickle.

Red didn't used to be what it is today. Today it is the colour of a football team or two, the colour of the first stripe on the flag, the colour of the Republican Party and the colour of Santa's coat. It's a colour that people wear now when they are out jogging. It's a colour they don't even think about.

I looked back down at my oatmeal. I like it better this way. I like meaningless colours. I take a scoop from my bowl. If only all the colours were like that. If only I, like the others, could forget all those meanings.