A dark room with a small fire as the only source of light,was the place he was sitting. Sitting in his big, maroon armchair,with a frown on his face.
He was wearing a maroon robe over his casual attire. Almost everything in the room had the same colour,the walls,the carpet, almost everything.
Even the pack of cigarettes and the bottle of whiskey had maroon touches,
And even his thoughts were the same. The image of a slim yet curved body, long and toned legs, wearing a dark maroon dress,the image of plump, maroon lips,were all going through his mind killing all the sanity in him. Not even his good old friends, alcohol and tobacco, which he consumed more than usual, couldn't get him out of the deadly trap of the maroon women.
His blood was boiling with passion and anger,but he knew too well that he was helpless.
He was caught in his own mind full of desire. He was caught in his own maroon thoughts.