Red

I've never described myself, now have I?
Well, there's really no need for a description, just look at me and you'll see everything you need to know. Everything.
You'll see my red hair, my crystal eyes, my rosy lips, my freckled cheeks, and my thin frame. You'll see my white collared shirt, my snug black jeans, my bronze anklet, my gold necklace, my purple and orange sneakers.
Sometimes Izzy called me Red, back in my time. So did Mum on occasion, but Dad called me Rot all the time.
I miss my time, I miss red.
Red hair is a recessive trait, and I am the only living person with red hair right now. Getting your hair dyed a natural red is illegal, so no one else has truly red hair. I personally believe that no one has been born with red hair for so long because whatever omnipotent force truly awaits us in the afterlife has decided that the human race is unworthy of such a feat.
One day there will be born another person with red hair, I think. If the human species can get their act together perhaps another baby shall be born unto very lucky parents with bright red or chocolaty red hair.
And if I'm still alive, I won't be alone anymore.
Red, it's such a strange color. Bees can't see it, it's a recessive trait, and it's the color of blood. It represents anger and love, it's really quite strange.
Red, such a strange color.
Ruthie, such a strange girl.