Having thought about my Red Room hero I have come to the conclusion that it has to be the written word. The word comes in all guises. It swoops in when everything appears hopeless. It musters up hope. It cries and laughs and gives solace in the deepest darkest of places. It never lets one down. It is always there, waiting in the shadows to jump out, to salvage, to point in the right direction.
The Red Room hero is very diverse. It crosses oceans and borders and various philosophies. It transcends gender and age. It is entirely attractive. It has the most wonderful body, bursting with all sorts of anecdotes and deep pondering thoughts. The Red cloak it wears certainly helps. It is a strange concoction of linen and satin with an odd blend of Irish tweed and Indian cotton. Some hemp from California helps and a little sap from the great Redwoods manages to congeal it and make it durable.
The Red Room hero is never failing. It is very loyal. Friendship is on top of its list as it an honest and committed interest and love affair with literature. Messages are sent in an expedient fashion and never fail to arrive. The hero might wear a vivid bandana heralding unity and a shared vision. It in all could be a very perfect world but alas the hero has to settle for those who find it and believe in it and in turn the hero can save and salvage those in despair. The hero gives a voice to the ones who might remain silent if the hero did not exist. I say the hero is the one who reads and in turn responds and gives the silent one a voice. Otherwise the silent one would die with all the things that needed to be said, bursting to get out, reaching for the air, wanting to be heard but slowly choking on a congestion of nothingness.