The thickness of blood that stains our life’s story
You might not have heard about Ren Gill and his music. You might not have heard about him, his illness, his talent for playing his guitar so remarkably well, or the fact that he is a heartbreakingly astonishing songwriter and musician.
But you might have all heard or witnessed Violet’s Tale, either with someone close to you or a friend of a friend sharing a similar story of silence and violence.
What colour is everyone’s blood?
Ren Eryn Gill, known professionally as Ren, is a Welsh songwriter, musician, rapper, producer, and director. I discovered him quite randomly, to be honest, and after listening to his song, I was left for a few hours broke, hurt, and in tears.
I cry so rarely these days, but with Ren, my tears silently flowed on their own and now I want everyone to hear and know about him.
One of his songs (even now while writing this post with trembling hands) cut deep.
Ren doesn’t wonder what colour everyone’s blood is. He knows and he sings it with his guitar strings and words that flow with ease but eerily from his mouth.
But I did wonder? I did wonder about the colour of the blood and the feel of it’s thickness and warmth on my hands.
I did wonder when no one dared to go and clean up the blood that had drenched her shirt and dried on her mouth and nose. I did wonder when the ruby blood had pooled on the floor and we were ordered not to touch her.
I disobeyed, of course, and I didn’t care if my blood would be pooled next to hers. I will never forget the thickness of the ruby blood that stains our life story. I will never forget how warm it felt on my hand and how no piece of cloth was enough to wash it from the floor, from my hands, or from my memories.
What colour is everyone’s blood, Ren Gill? But Ren knows it and he doesn’t hide it. He tells everyone about it’s consistency and how it feels to him. He doesn’t keep it hidden in his memories, feeling fresh as an uncut red rose prickling every time you hear a similar story to Violet’s Tale, triggering even those forgotten scars.
And while not all tales are like Violet’s, they all have something in common. Violence suffered in silence.
My blood didn’t pool that night close to the one I cleaned with a dirty cloth. It didn’t need to, because that night I hated everyone who didn’t dare help and, most of all, the one who did that to her.
So, Ren, what colour is everyone’s blood? Surely those who do it must be rooting inside? Their blood can’t be red, Ren. It simply can’t.
But Ren keeps singing about violence…
Violet, why you always so quiet?
On her bedroom door and he’s irate
He’s been drinking and smoking, he’s up late
And he stands by her bedside, she shakes
But her eyes stay shut
You fucking slut, I know you’re up
And he pinches her eyelids and folds them up
Violet, why you lying to me, Violet?
She stays silent, things turn violent
That’s the sound of his fists when they fall like a crashing pilot
Hit like hailstones
One to the collarbone, full force, full-blown
Blood splat, bone crack, knick-knack-paddy-whack
One to the jaw and a tooth spat, detached
Fist connects and disconnects the bone
A quick deflect to misdirect the blow
But nonetheless, his punches met her throat
Such a mess, he’s left her bruised and broke
Violet, why you always so quiet, Violet?
Why you such a little liar, Violet?
Do you think I want to do this, Violet?
In character, she stays silent
Well say something, Violet, silence
Fucking say something, Violet, silence
Wait, say something, Violet
Not one word, she stays quiet
…and I keep crying in silence.
