The Bright Colours of Misery [COMPLETED]

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽 -smaller role-

December eventually rolled around, adding a bit of festivities to Heidi's life. Families all over Germany gathered around to light their adventskranz, to bake cookies and decorate their houses. Heidi enjoyed it immensely, she spent most of her time looking at the windows of others, admiring their candles and decoration although most of them were rather plain. At school they were singing a few christian christmas songs, Heidi's favourite to listen to—and not to sing—was the world famous 'stille nacht'. She had no idea why she liked it so much, but I must admit it might have been a bit influenced by me.

I have a rather strong connection to that carol, because of a certain past human of mine.

Helga proved to be an even better baker than Heidi thought, she seemed to be baking cookies by the minute, all better than the last ones. It had started snowing a bit hence why Alexander and Heidi didn't spend as much time at the treehouse anymore. My little human missed it, but she spent time with her friend in other ways to pass the time. The duo would walk straight to the Ficsher house, eat some cookies and drink a glass of milk. Then Alexander would show off one of his little plays, he had told Heidi long ago that his dream was to become an actor. When he was very little his uncle had taken him to the cinema, which he never got to do again since his uncle died, but he never forgot how fun it was.

That day's play was rather grey and dull at first, the main character's life was dull and miserable. The boy was lonely. when he tried to play with others he always said too much and drove them away. All because of the curse of an old wicked witch who had made it impossible for the young boy to stop talking, until one day when this young painter managed to break the curse, and become friends with the boy.

Heidi and Helga clapped when Alexander was done playing his twelve different characters and he bowed to them smiling widely.
"Well done my dear!" Helga exclaimed while making sure Johannes congratulated his brother as well. Heidi couldn't help being a bit jealous of Alexander's family dynamique sometimes, even if she was sort of becoming a part of it.
"And what about you, Heidi?" Herr Fischer—otherwise known as Fritz—asked.
Heidi turned to him, confused.
"What about me?" The girl asked, Fritz smiled and sat down next to them all.
"Don't you have any paintings to show us?"
Heidi shook her head, she had no intention of showing those paintings to them, she thought they had all turned out rather dull that day. She didn't want to expose her worst work to anyone.
"Oh no, I threw them all away." She lied after a long silence. She had only put them away, all crumbled up in her pocket.
"You shouldn't do that" Fritz said to her, like he had done it too and regretted it. "One day you'll wish you had it all back. Put all your works, good or bad, in a safe place, so you can look at them when you're all grey and old, Heidi."

I sort of agreed with Fritz and also it made me curious. What experience with that had he had?
Whatever the answer to that question may be, this little piece of advice was something Heidi would ignore, but never forget. One day, she understood it, and she regretted not following the advice.

"I think you did well playing the old witch today." Heidi told Alexander on the way home. "I have no idea where you got the idea of her character"
Alexander rolled his eyes and they both  smiled. Alexander quickly looked down at the floor, holding in his laughter.

They both knew which old lady was behind the old witch. A certain teacher, who had no problem humiliating Alexander—or any student—whenever she felt like it.

"And what about the painter?" Alexander eventually asked, gazing at Heidi. She shook her head slowly, still smiling. She definitely knew who was behind that character.
"I think," she started. "That she plays a bigger role in your story than she should."
'Than she does' was what she really wanted to say. Alexander fell quiet, I fell quiet.

The only things left to be heard were the children's slow footsteps in the snow, and the few tears dripping onto the red haired girl's shoes.