In our first session, the YAP writers created two simultaneous exquisite corpse poems. The rules: write about a color without using the name of the color, and don't look at what the writer before you has written. During a rousing competition between red and black, in which no eight-legged creatures were eaten and no one (repeat: NO ONE) fell into a 12-foot trench, red was declared the winner.
Red
She could still see the target on his back through the cross hairs.
The sand wafted, dusty clouds of it pricking his eyes and coating his mouth, the brightness of sunlight shining on the dunes blinding him still more.
The crimson hue -- anger, rage, tormented too; known for valor, known for violence, known for honor, the hated few.
When blood and oxygen collide, look at the hue.
And so Anastasia scalpels, and stitches you went; blood and heart monitors,
As the fire did the glow of the room faded.
As the fire slowly fades crimson can still be seen in the eyes of the fallen, awakening the blood lust that has been lying dormant for too long.
I walked down the disgusting hallway at my school. My best friend tripped over my foot resulting in a bloody mess.
This color makes me feel confident and courageous.
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