Carl loathes the color red.
Red doors, specifically.
Red Door was his mother’s favorite perfume. It was the only scent she wore. Carl believed she doused herself with a fresh layer before she’d come to his room to discipline him at odd hours of the night.
He wasn’t a bad kid. However, no matter what he did, she always found a reason to punish him.
As Carl walks up the steps toward the red doors of his school, the scent of his mother wafts across his nose.
Triggered, he turns around, inhales deeply. Exhales his pain with a growl.
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