Colorless→ M.C

C h a p t e r 1☽

‎    Michaels POV

There are dreamers and there are realists in this world, you think the dreamers would find the dreamers and the realists would find the realists, but more often than not the opposite is true. See the dreamers need the realists to keep the dreamers from soaring too close to the sun. And the realists? Well without the dreamers, they might not ever get off the ground.

I saw myself as more of a realists. I wasn't a very creative or hopeful person. My thoughts were almost never consumed in daydreams or getting "lost in ones thoughts," As so a dreamer would say. I don't think I had a creative bone in my body to be honest.

I guess I just didn't have hope or a dream for the future and I didn't imagine the way things could be. I just took life as it was and thought nothing more of it.

I watched as the wind whipped around a couple of fallen leaves on the street as they whirled around in a circle almost as if they were alive, happy  and dancing. Like a dreamer would, I thought to myself.

I turned my gaze away from the leaves, looking downwards, and watched my worn out, black converse scrape against the old sidewalk as I walked to my favorite place in the world.

The park.

The thing that was best about this place was that it was also worn out and old so no one really bothered to come here. It was like my secret hideout.

The dense forest that surrounded almost all of the playground blocked out most of the sunlight, leaving this place feeling quite dark, and gloomy. that's why I liked it so much.

The rusted down swing let out a loud groan as my weight sat down onto the seat. I let out a breath of air before swinging my backpack off and letting it land on the pebbles.

My fingers yanked at the zipper of my black backpack, watching carefully as the cool metal zipper easily glided across my bag opening it. I stuck my hand inside, my hands touching various school books and junk as I searched for my journal

Once I felt the cool, smooth, leather cover of it, I didn't hesitate to yank it out and lazily drop the book on my lap and flipping to the next clean page.

A harsh breeze roared past my ears making the different colored leaves on the ground shake to life and move. I squeezed my jacket around my body tighter and pulled my beanie farther past my ears to gain some warmth. It was pretty cold this evening but not enough to stop me from sketching.

It was a rare occasion that I did this, I normally despise the idea of drawing or writing, but today was somewhat different. I felt a bit creative although I didn't understand why.

I cringed back into my jacket as another face-stinging breeze echoed through my ears. The leaves once again sprung to life. The beautiful colors of fall danced together on the ground near me.

I looked down to my converse and observed the pretty red-orange colored leaf that had landed by me. With one hand holding onto my journal and pencil, I used my other to reach down and delicately pick up the fragile leaf.

The slowly dying leaf was soft to the touch and I couldn't help myself but to use my fingers to quickly spin it back and forth, the colors seemingly to swirl together into a harmless tornado of orange and red.