Living Red

By Susan Marie Schulhof

Living Red is a New-Adult Futuristic Novel set during a period of time when humankind is making major advances in communicating with one another and even traveling through thoughts alone. Eighteen year old, Peyton Milner lives with her parents and her brother in one of the few civilizations remaining and thriving in what is left of America after everything and everyone was almost obliterated by war. Although the world is making major advances in communicating with one another and even traveling through thought, she is struggling with the secrets her Grandma Ava is sharing with her. When she and her best friend, Reese, wander into a local Art Gallery where she meets Dallas, she is drawn to him and to the sunsets he paints in ways that she can't describe, ways that contradict all common sense and rationale. Peyton has been raised to place vast significance on one's intelligence and the power of reasoning and logic in all decisions, but will she learn to follow her intuition to discover the truth?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098339760

Susan Marie Schulhof

Susan Marie Schulhof lives in the Chicagoland area, and Little Stone House on the Corner is her fourth book. She has her Master’s Degree in Psychology and has worked in the Early Childhood Education field since 2001. She has been writing a blog on positivity since 2016 and loves to hike, read, and spend time with her family when she is not traveling for pleasure or work.

Book preview

Author

Listen to your feelings

Friday, September 2

    As I turn the corner, I glance at the next section of paintings. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something, like a word or an image in one of them.

 Hey, can you show me that one again? I ask the guy covering it up, unsure of what exactly I saw.

  After he does, he turns to face me, and I look into the darkest eyes that I have ever seen. I try to turn back to the painting, but I am momentarily struck because the pupil seems to blend right into the iris. I know they are probably dark brown, but I see something in them just like I did with the painting.

 Hi. My name is Dallas. Why did you want me to uncover it? he asks as he tucks a loose strand of his dark brown hair behind his ear.

 I am not exactly sure, I stumble, not wanting to sound foolish and explain that I saw something in it that isn’t there, It is an accurate depiction of a sunset though.

   Dallas chuckles as he goes back to covering the paintings.

 Okay, I mumble as I start to walk away.

    You never told me your name, he turns back and smiles as Reese walks up to us.

    Oh, my name is Peyton. This is my friend Reese. Do you work here?

  Nice to meet you, Peyton and Reese. This weekend I do, or at least until I sell all of my paintings, he answers.

  Oh, I thought that you were just covering them up for the night. You’re the artist?

  Yes. I painted all six of these accurate depictions of sunsets, he chuckles, Although I do paint things other than sunsets too.

  Sorry. I didn’t realize you painted them. You look so young.

  I will be eighteen soon, he laughs again.

    As I tell him that I just turned eighteen also, I ask, Where did you go to contemplative school? Did you just graduate, or are you still attending?

  Actually I went to art school, he says as an announcement stating that the Art Gallery is closing in five minutes comes on.

  I guess they are closing now. Are you ready to go, Peyton? Reese asks me as she turns to Dallas and says, Nice meeting you, Dallas.

  Yes, nice meeting you, uh Dallas, I stammer as Reese pulls me toward the door.

  You both, too, he says as he turns back to covering his paintings.

  The woman that let us in hands us a flyer as we walk out the door. I crumple it up and stuff it into my pocket with one backward glance.

    That was interesting, wasn’t it? asks Reese as we walk out into the cool evening breeze.

    It was, I respond, lost in my thoughts about Dallas and his painting.

    Some of those paintings were so beautiful, weren’t they? I never could draw or paint well when we learned it in school, Reese continues, without mentioning Dallas’ name or how I was acting.

      Neither of us says any more as we get on the tram and head for home even though it is much earlier than when we usually call it a night. We walk silently after the tram until we get to my front door, and then she whispers, Could you hear my thoughts, Peyton? You are acting so weird since we left the gallery. When I was talking to you, I could tell you weren’t really listening to me. Then I was trying to thought-speak with you the whole way home. I don’t know if you missed a pill today or what is going on, but you better just go to your room and take one.

  Okay, I say since I don’t know how else to respond, Goodnight.

  Night Peyton.

    My mom doesn’t even ask why I am home so early on a Friday night, so I just say goodnight and head upstairs. We live in a four-bedroom house even though it is only my brother and I. Perhaps my parents wanted more children, or they just liked this house; I am not sure. We have lived here since I was born. My parents are both accountants, but my mother quit working after having my brother. We have the other bedroom set up as an office, but it is rarely used. Reese lives next door, so I know she would be home now. I should try to thought speak with her, but I am not sure how to explain my behavior. I just kept seeing Dallas’ eyes and his painting on the tram ride home. I was so distracted by him that I guess I just could not hear Reese in my thoughts. Instead of taking an extra pill as Reese told me to, I change my clothes, climb into bed, and turn off the lights. I try to focus on my immediate surroundings and relax, but my heart feels like it is racing. I am not sure why but my thoughts keep floating back to that painting and to Dallas as I close my eyes. He was polite, and his face was pleasing. The combination of his eyes, hair, and dark skin tone made him appear to be attractive, but there are many people that I have known who could also be defined that way. None of them elicited the same response that he did. I don’t think that I forgot to take my pills today since I always take one at breakfast and one at dinner, and I know that Reese and I both took one at the restaurant. I suppose that I should get up and take an extra one like Reese said because I have seen first hand what can happen if a person doesn’t stay consistent with taking their red pills.

      I remember that it was at lunchtime in the cafeteria during my last year of fundamental school when a girl named Marti showed her uncontrolled emotions. She was sitting at a table with her friends when a girl said something that set her off. I never heard what was said, or maybe no one really knows precisely what words provoked this response, but she yelled the word, No. She stood up, and with the sweep of her arm, she threw all of the food and drinks that were on the table to the floor. I personally have never seen anything like that in my lifetime. I know that my parents have because they had told us many stories of the time before the pills became mandatory. As we got older and questioned why we needed to take these pills every day, they told us of a society that almost destroyed itself because people could not control their feelings and emotions. Then even after the war, as societies were being rebuilt, many people fell into despair from the losses they experienced as well as from the challenges of a civilization that had to restore and renew the way they lived.       

      Even though the World Guideline Organization was started a year after the destruction, they had a long road to rebuilding and setting the guidelines to really live again. I learned that the pills began shortly after the war, but they were not mandatory until sixty years ago. Thoughts fill my head as I imagine a world where everyone is out of control with people expressing their emotions instead of using logic to make decisions and live their lives. There is anger and even fighting. Would people cry and throw things? These thoughts alarm me, but I also wonder if I could then feel the joy that my Great Great-Grandma Sarah refers to in her story, A Simple Joy. Once again, my thoughts drift back to Dallas, and I think about him painting? What else does he paint other than sunsets? What did I see in his painting, and why did I see it, but not in anyone else’s paintings? Why could I only see it briefly? The conversation with Dallas replays over and over as I finally drift into a deep sleep.

Saturday, September 3

    I wake as the sun is coming up since I went to sleep so early last night. As I think about the events of the previous couple of months, I realize that I just don’t know who I am anymore. According to the guidelines, I should be content working in a field that uses my talents and abilities. I eat reasonably healthy, and I exercise. I have people around me that support and care for me. I take my red pills daily as required, so why can’t I stop these thoughts of imagining a life of joy that Great Great-Grandma Sarah referred to in her words? Even though it makes me have feelings that I am not supposed to feel, I miss taking care of the babies too and also feel sad that their emotions get suppressed as they grow into toddlers and begin their required dosage of the red pills as well. Now I am acting irrational, obsessively thinking about a guy who I just met, and wondering why I saw something in his painting. What is happening to me?

    I struggle to get out of bed, so I try to connect to the present thinking about my front porch. I can sense that it is still around sixty-two degrees outside, so that brings me comfort, knowing I can do that today. If it weren’t so early in the morning, I would try to communicate with Reese. I decide that since I shouldn’t waste more time in bed, I get up and dress to exercise. I put on light blue shorts with a long sleeve chocolate brown shirt. As I look in the mirror to put my hair into a low ponytail, I realize that my shorts matched the color of Dallas’ shirt last night. I wonder why that should matter and why I would even connect the two items? A smile creeps across my face as I recall Dallas’s deep black eyes, so I quickly take my red pill, in case that is why I had those ideas yesterday and why I am smiling today. I know that it is acceptable to think positively about a person or an event, but I also know that there must be a reasonable explanation for those thoughts, which I don’t have for why I am thinking this way. I even don’t know why I couldn’t sense Reese’s thoughts last night, either. At least I could sense the weather. When it gets a little later in the morning, I will send Reese a message to see if we can connect.

  I try to shake all thoughts of him away as I head downstairs to get a bite to eat before going out the door. Since it usually calms me, I recite A Simple Joy in my head as I eat a whole-wheat bagel with some peanut butter, a hand full of raspberries, and half of a cup of milk before heading out to exercise.

      Sometimes we do our daily walk together as a family on the weekend, but it is expected that as I grow and mature that I continue these habits on my own. Now that I graduated from school and have a job, the next step will be to move to an apartment alone, if I can afford it, or with friends. Reese and I have talked about living together since we became best friends in the preliminary school that we attended. Because it is believed that friendships and interactions with consistent and steady people are vital to our health and well-being, my mother continued to have me attend school two days a week even after she stayed at home from work when my brother was born. There are so many things that are valued and encouraged in today’s world like eating healthy, exercising, establishing and maintaining relationships, having stability and purpose in a career, and your role as a parent. Also, continuing your education and the seeking of knowledge, being financially responsible, as well as using careful thought and planning in whom you choose to marry are important. These are all only recommended, but obviously strongly encouraged. The only mandatory thing is the proper dosage of red pills to regulate our emotions and feelings. My mind shifts back to thoughts of Marti as I wonder what her life was like then. She must not have been taking her pills, but something else might have driven her to act out the way that she did. She did return to school a few weeks later, but I remember thinking when I saw her sitting at the table at lunch with her friends that I must never forget to take my pills. She appeared to be just a shadow of herself. I know that it is vital to control our emotions, but I recall thinking that now she had no feelings at all, and I knew that I never want to experience that complete absence of emotions.

  Once I warm up, I pick up the pace and begin running since regular exercise can help the red pills keep us in balance, and I definitely do not want to be out of control like she was that day in the cafeteria and how I felt last night. I notice that the sky is bright blue today with not a cloud in sight. Where we live can be really hot during the day, but it is nice out since it is so early in the morning. Since Apta is only four square miles, I run and walk the same path most days. Part of the rebuild was to make it circular with paths to maintain our health by walking or running. I think the routes were added later, but it is nice to have set paths to go on daily. When I walk into the house, my mom, dad, and my brother, Parker, are all eating breakfast at the table.

    Wow Peyton, you really are growing up and becoming responsible. Did you already eat and take your red pill? asks my mother.

  Yes, I did, and I walked two miles, ran one mile, and got eight hours of sleep as well, mother, I chuckle.

  Okay. I will stop asking you. Just wait until you have your own children. Then you will understand how difficult it is to break the habit of being a parent.

    What is everyone doing today? I ask as I sit down with a glass of water.

  I am trying to figure out why people are still getting sick if they follow the recommendations as well as take their prescribed dosage of red pills every day to regulate their emotions, Parker says all in one breath.

  Oh, that’s all? I tease.

  Seriously, Peyton. Doesn’t it bother you at all? Think about those babies that you took care of every day. Now imagine if one of them got cancer? How would you react?

  I don’t know Parker, I say honestly.

  Did you take your red pill today, Parker, and maybe a long walk is needed? my mom responds calmly to Parker as well.

  I know. I am sorry. I was just thinking about what we were learning at school last week, and I just don’t understand it. We can communicate through thoughts when we choose and travel through collective thought as a group, but we can’t stop people from getting sick? he says as he finishes his cereal and clears his dishes.

  My brother is five years younger than me, so he just started contemplative school. I think he should be a doctor or go into medical research since it sounds like a perfect match for him even though our family pattern is in accounting. He and I both have light brown hair like our father, but he has hazel eyes like mom, and he is already as tall as I am. We were closer when we were younger, but since we are five years apart and don’t have many similar interests anymore, we rarely hang out together. I care about him, but if he wasn’t my brother, I am not sure that we would be friends. I respect his views, but it is not interesting to think about, let alone talk about illness and death. The only area that we have a similar perspective is on harnessing the power of thought, and the idea that when we control our feelings and keep our emotions out of the equation, we can direct our thoughts purposefully toward another person and communicate with each other. We could talk for hours about this since traveling through the power of thought interests both of us. As I did this morning, we can also focus our attention on an area outside and can see and feel the temperature and conditions. Research is showing that we will soon be able to control our thoughts to the degree that we can maybe travel and visit other places through that same power of concentration. Since we were able to collectively travel to Niagara Falls in July, I have tried to perceive different places that I am interested in visiting since I have looked at pictures of places on OneWeb since I was a little girl. Still, I haven’t been able to go farther than the city that I live in. I guess that is similar to only being able to thought-speak with people we know.

    In history books, I have seen pictures of even more places I would be curious to visit if they hadn’t been destroyed in the war. I wonder if there would be a way that we could ever travel in time? I would love to go back to experience the life Great Great-Grandma Sarah described in her story, but I would be afraid that I would get stuck there and have to experience the war and maybe not even survive it.

    Do you think that we will ever be able to travel in time? I ask my brother.

    I would imagine that after collective travel, that might be close behind, he answers as he walks out of the kitchen.

  Just remember that the purpose of travel would only be to gain knowledge, Peyton. That is the true reason to do anything in life, to learn and grow, my father reminds me.

    I answer, I know Dad, as my thoughts focus on the list of places I would want to see if I could travel in reality or through thought. I feel my heart rate increase, and a level of energy surge through my veins as I head upstairs to take a shower. Within minutes of reaching my bedroom, I hear Reese asking me how I am today. I send her back the message that I feel great and just came back from a walk. She replies that she is glad that I could hear her thoughts today. When I ask what she is doing this weekend, she tells me that she is going to the park with her family and maybe out to dinner. I can hear the excitement in her voice because her parents work a lot even on the weekends, and are usually too busy to spend time with her.

    As I get in the shower, I wonder why I couldn’t hear her last night, but those questions disappear as I think about what my options are for the day. Maybe I will read on my CV, or compact viewer, or see if anyone wants to go to a movie. Even though learning is an ongoing expectation, the World Guideline Organization also values time to relax our minds and bodies. I really enjoy my free time now that I am working full time at the accounting firm, but I just can’t think of anything to do sometimes.

    Since my family has previous plans and Reese is busy, I decide to go for another walk after eating lunch to he beach. It is much hotter out now than it was earlier this morning. Ever since Grandma Ava gave me Great Great-Grandma Sarah’s short story, the beach calls out to me often. I always thought that it was pretty, but as I look out at the water, I imagine Sarah staring at her own body of water and writing down the words to A Simple Joy.

    Once I get there, I get out a pencil and a pad of paper I brought in my bag and try to sketch what I see. Expressing ourselves artistically is an excellent way to relax, but I have never really had an interest before now. The area of water that Apta borders were called the Gulf of Mexico before the World Guideline Leaders renamed everything. Since the city is called Apta, the water is called Water A. Occasionally, I see boats traveling along this area, but not that often. I know that we learned in school that when there were many cities all over the world, boats were used more frequently to transport items as well as people. I wonder if as the civilizations grow, will we use boats more often again? I can’t even imagine the water being full of boats. As I sketch the water, I see Dallas’ eyes in the lines I draw. This is getting ridiculous. Why am I drawn to Dallas and his paintings? I put my pencil and pad away and head home, trying to stop these thoughts and calm my beating heart.

Sunday, September 4

    After breakfast and another long walk again today, I realize that I need to do my laundry before work tomorrow. I wish that it was still my mom’s responsibility to ensure that I had clean clothes. It is nice to be able to make my own choices of what I do and where I go, but some parts of growing up are just plain dull. Once I move out, every decision will be my own to make, and I am not sure if I am quite ready for that, although I wouldn’t want my parents to know. I thought speak Reese to ask how the day with her parents went yesterday and see what she is up to today as I check the pockets of my clothes while putting them in the washing machine. She tells me that it was fun and that she is going to the beach with Jeff and some other friends if I want to go. I tell her thanks but that I am doing responsible things like laundry and cleaning my room today. As I pull out the crumpled up piece of orange paper that was in my white pants from Friday night, I feel a weird sensation in my stomach, so I quickly tell Reese to have fun. This paper is stirring something in me, and I feel a pull to go. I know that I just told Reese that I was staying home, so I don’t understand why I find myself getting dressed and heading for the tram.

    I had tried on three different outfits before deciding on a pair of red shorts with a black shirt that ties in the front and my black sandals. I stuck my hair into a high ponytail and put on some makeup and lip-gloss. When I looked in the mirror before leaving, I wondered if my appearance is attractive to Dallas? Reese’s facial features, with her long blond hair and blue eyes, are generally thought to be attractive to most people. She is around the same height as me, but an inch taller, and she is slimmer yet more shapely than I am. I believe that my looks are generally average, so I have always focused more on my intelligence as a strong trait that would appeal to a future life partner.

    When I get to the art gallery, my stomach is fluttering once again, and I try to remember if I took my red pill today. I distinctly recall taking it with orange juice before heading out for my walk. As I head to the back of the gallery after paying the fee to enter, I am hurrying towards the area where I remember Dallas’ paintings were hanging when I walk straight into the hard chest of a man.

    Wow. Slow down, the man laughs as I look up and realize that it is Dallas.

    I notice a crinkle in the corner of those pools of blackness as he says, Peyton!

  Hi Dallas, I respond after I regain my senses and can speak. When I realize that I still have my hands splayed against his shirt from running into him, I quickly remove them. His hair is once again in a ponytail, but it must be held looser since a few strands are hanging out the front. He has on black slacks with a black shirt and red tie. I chuckle as I realize that we match once again.

  Are you back to see me? he asks mischievously.

    No. Well, yes, since the gallery closed the last time I was here before I saw everything, I decided to come back today, I try to explain even though his paintings were the only thing I wanted to see last time and today.

    I was just going to get a drink if you want to walk with me then? he asks.

    Okay.

    So I know that your name is Peyton and that you are 18, but that is all I know. Tell me about yourself, he questions as we walk in the backroom to get some water.

  I work as a receptionist at an accounting firm right now, but before I completed contemplative instruction, I worked at the preliminary school down the street teaching and taking care of the babies, I ramble. I find myself telling him all about what it is like to care for the babies and even tell him about Lily and how she would follow me around once I got there. I don’t tell him how sad I was when I went to visit and that she barely recognized me the last time I saw her. I also hold back from telling him how sad it makes me that the red pills suppress their emotions so much that I almost can’t see the infant they once were.

  I look up and see Dallas staring at me. I wonder if he knew what I was thinking, but without me purposefully focusing my thoughts to him, there is no way he could know, so I ask, "What? Why are you looking at me like