I never would have married you if I had known that you were a pili-pheomelanin purist.

I can't believe I'd been blind to this side of you for so long. The signs were all there but I didn't want to believe it. I honestly never thought that you would do something like this.

I remember when we first met. It was during summer break during college. It was a pool party that my friends had dragged me to. I always hated pool parties. I could never wear a bikini comfortably like all my friends because I felt self-conscious about the freckles that covered my chest and back. Years of teasing could do that to you.

I was standing in the shade, watching all my friends have fun because I had forgotten my special sunscreen.

My white milky skin simply never tanned. The sun burnt me up without my special sunscreen on. I'd look like I had second degree burns.

Tears were pooling in my eyes as I saw my friend, Lory playing around in the water with my all time crush, Scott. I couldn't believe that she would do this to me when she had convinced me to come with the words, "Scott will be there." She knew that I liked him. A lot. He was the archetypal tall dark and handsome. But I was lying to myself if I ever thought that he would give me the time of day.

They were getting cosy now and I knew it was only a matter of time before they became official what with Lory's lithe sporty body and easy personality, she could charm any guy into anything.

My mom always said that I had what you call unconventional beauty. She told me that that made me unique and special. She always thought that those words made me feel good about myself. Well, they did the exact opposite.

Unconventional. I hated that stupid word. It made me feel like I didn't fit in some stupid universal criteria of beauty. Wasn't beauty a subjective concept? Then didn't that mean that there wasn't a standard measure of beauty. Why use the word unconventional? Of course, I never actually told my mom nor anyone else how much that word offended me.

As I watched Scott and Lory, I became resigned to the fact that maybe there was a standard of beauty that I would simply never measure up to.

A tear finally slipped from my eye. I didn't mind I could always just lie that it was sweat. Because gosh I was burning up. I longed for the water so badly. It's not that I didn't like the water. In fact, I loved swimming. It was just that my skin was photo-sensitive and I could swim comfortably only in indoor pools.

I was wearing a long-sleeved cotton shirt and I wanted so badly to wipe the tears that were now traitorously falling out of my eyes one droplet followed by another. But I was sure that if I raised my hands to my face, I'd expose my armpits that had damp spots on them.

At that moment, I was feeling truly miserable. A whole twenty year old crying like a little baby in the corner in the middle of party. But then you walked up to me. I was so busy with my little pity party that at first I didn't even notice you.

Then you stretched out your hand, offering me a bottle of water and I just had to look up to see who this person was.

The first time I saw you was magical. Even now after everything, it's still a special moment to me. Your eyes - those silver eyes of yours were the first thing that I noticed about you. You had the kind of looks that my mom would use that disgusting word on - unconventional. But you, you were undoubtedly beautiful to me. If ever there were standards for beauty, then you trumped them all.

Maybe it was the raw confidence with which you carried yourself. It wasn't arrogance nor false bravado. It was like you were stating a simple fact of life, "I am the way I am and I'm owning it." I knew that I wasn't the only person who was attracted to you. The appeal you had went beyond looks.

You hang out with me for the rest of the party. It was overwhelming really. I had never had someone give me their attention like that - much less a good looking guy like you.

I loved how you kept brushing your unruly ginger curls back with your hand. And I kept waiting for you to get bored and move on to someone else prettier than me. But you didn't. No, you never did. Throughout the rest of college until you proposed to me.

You built my self - confidence. You told me that I was beautiful every single day. I truly felt like you had eyes only for me. I don't know why I let myself be blinded. It must have been love. But no that wasn't the case for me.

They say love is blind. Well I wasn't blind, I think I saw all your faults as light as day but I chose to close my eyes to them. Because that's what real love is. Or at least that's what I thought.

So when you slept with that burgundy red haired intern at your office, I forgave you. When I found compromising photos of the curly red velvet redhead neighbor across the street, I pretended I never saw them.

Then when we were being intimate, the amount of attention you would pay to my hair...My hair was a light auburn. I thought it was some fetish that you had and I didn't mind. I wanted to please you. I never realized that the amount of pheomelanin - the pigment that gives hair its red colour, could actually seriously influence our relationship.

You even allowed hair colour to be the sole determinant of your opinion on people. At first, I'd laugh off the unreasonable stereotypes that you had of people of various hair colours.

You had always hated, my friend - Lory because she was a brunette. Secretly, that pleased me immensely because of all the male population, I knew that you would be the only one who would never be susceptible to her charms.

I had such a great catch like you and Lory could go choke herself with her luscious chocolate hair because she could never steal you away from me.

Then whenever there was a political candidate who happened to be a redhead you'd support them. It didn't matter what their political agenda was nor their manifesto. Then you joined redhead fan clubs where you met to discuss the near extinction of the redhead species because it was a recessive gene and how we had to keep our race pure.

Of course, I went along with you. I might have been less enthusiastic but I still went to each and every meeting.
But you took it a little too far when you dragged me to genetic counseling to make sure that our children would be "pure" once we decided to have kids. That word was beginning to have the same ring to it as unconventional. But I humoured you out of my love for you.

And the one time I suggested dying my hair black, you almost physically hurt me. You practically threw me out of the house that night.

All the signs were there right infront of me. I should have at least noticed a pattern. Something was horribly wrong. But like I said before, I kept closing my eyes to all your flaws.

Still even with my eyes wide open, I could never see it coming. Imagine my shock when the police came for me at our door, telling me that you had been charged with the attempted assassination of the mayor and that you were suspected to be part of a nationwide terrorist group called the Crimson Purifiers.

"My husband is a law-abiding citizen. You must have the wrong name." I mean you got on my case for driving below the required speed. Below the speed limit. Surely, they were talking about someone else.

But they insisted so much. I got so agitated and in the end that stereotypical temper associated with redheads got the best of me. I slapped the police officer so hard. I got arrested for assaulting an officer. Well they ended up getting me at the station one way or the other.

"This is preposterous! I'll have you know that my husband is a lawyer."

"I know my rights." I shouted.

You know I vehemently denied each and every charge they had against you. I didn't want to believe them at all.

Until I watched the news. Darling, you were on TV. I couldn't believe it. You had planned to assassinate the mayor so that there could be a re- election in which his copper haired main opponent would be sure to win.

Was this really my husband of six years? How did this happen? The court proceedings that followed were shockingly revealing. You refused any legal counsel insisting that you would represent yourself.

You were always a smart lawyer and you did have a bit of a dramatic flair. You pled not guilty knowing that you would use the prosecutors to indirectly confess to all your crime. It's as if you wanted to star in your own little play.

The prosecutor would play the part of narrator, slowly revealing your elaborate plan by admitting damning evidence - that you didn't bother to hide, calling in credible witnesses - that you hardly ever cross-examined. They were potraying you as a psychopath and you didn't care.

It was as if you enjoyed each pregnant pause and audible gasp that came from the crowd as the prosecution revealed each step of your crime. You enjoyed the attention and the shocked reactions of the crowd. You felt like a star. I could see it in your eyes.

You could have pled guilty and ended the whole scandal there and then but no. The courtroom became like a playground to you. You were playing them all and only I could see through what you were doing.

" I am an activist. Redheads have been discriminated against for too long. It was time we took action to break the chains of oppression that bind us. It's time we rose up to our potential and took up our rightful places in leadership," you had said when the State had questioned you about all your activities in redhead support groups.

"You are simply too intellectually deficient to understand that your lack of pheomelanin is in fact a handicap. I was doing the world a service and one day m act of bravery will be honoured as it should,"you said with such conviction. You just knew that that would be the sensation of the week.

Had I been married to this deranged man all along? I had asked myself this repeatedly.

I had given myself to you completely for eight years. Almost a decade of my life. We were supposed to have children together.

The media had a field day with your case sweetheart just like you wanted. No, just like you planned. We have to admit it wasn't everyday that the motive of such a heinous crime as yours was simply hair colour.

I wasn't left unscathed by the fourth estate. They dissected my life and blew everything out of proportion. When they discovered that little redhead group we used to be part of, I lost my job. I was cut off from every social circle. Even our fellow redheads didn't want anything to do with me. The public was convinced that I was complicit in your attempted assassination of the mayor.

And I was losing you too. You didn't care what would happen to you. It was as inevitable as death that they would find you guilty. You knew just as much as I did that you would be getting the death penalty. I had lost you to the madness.

I was getting hate mail everyday. I was stigmatized in the neighborhood and I was terrified of drawing the curtains. The hate mail had the same message, that I deserved to die. Your bomb even though it missed its intended target, still ended up killing twenty seven people at the Town Hall and its environs. Fifty people were injured. The families of the deceased were bitter.

I didn't leave you even after you cheated on me - repeatedly. You know one of your little mistresses wasn't clean. Remember that time? I cried when the doctor had examined me and told me what I had. I felt so unclean. You really hurt me. But marriage is endurance so I endured. But you went ahead and took lives. Twenty seven people dead and fifty injured. That is unforgivable.

You've destroyed my life, my love. And I'm angry, so damn angry. Let me ask, is my auburn hair the only reason you married me? You just wanted to make sure that your kids will be "pure", huh?

You ruined everything we had and for some cause that you're willing to die for, and the worst part you selfish bastard is that you're taking me down with you. I am so mad right now, I could execute you myself.

I sat on our bed, nursing a glass of white wine babe. You always hated white wine. Of course you would. You preferred red wine. So petty. You know what I won't need the glass. I think the whole bottle will more fitting for this session. After all, tomorrow is the last day of the case ruling, I need to prepare.

I have a little surprise for you love. I can't wait for you to see it.

Glossary:

pili-pheomelanin purist: a person that believes that redheads are a pure and refined species that have evolved from human beings.

Hehe. Clearly, I made up the word.