Colours // Poofless AU

Chapter 20

I posted this on my phone and not my laptop, so I'm sorry if something is messed up.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! < 3

Preston’s POV

My eyes never leave the rose. It’s the only colour I have in this room. If I stare at the walls any longer, I might go crazy. This room is too… plain. Too boring. Too sad. It makes this whole situation ten times worse. But that’s their plan. They’re trying to make me only see black and white. The ‘Normal’ way.

Just thinking about their definition of normal makes me sick. I bet they see normal as anything that most of the population does or has. Well, newsflash, Doctor Latsky and Mat. I am normal in my own way, whether you like it or not. This vision I have is what is expected to be seen, not this black and white shit.

Society is supposed to be diverse, so why shame The Colours and hide us away? Why cure us when we add an extra layer to history? If the Chromaphobics had thought to ask about what made us special and why we have this sight other than why we were here, we could be living peacefully together. What have we ever done to anyone? Last time I’ve checked, we had never hurt a single soul. We all live our lives and never try to say that we are better. I have so many questions, yet so little answers.

The biggest question I have is why was I chosen to have this curse? I used to live my life thinking I was normal and didn’t have to worry about the segregation that the others had. Now, I’m trapped inside a lab that is supposed to cure me.

What if I don’t want to be cured? What if I want to live my life with a beautiful woman and a few children? Have they not even considered that an option? I pretty sure more that half of the people who have been here wanted the same as me. Sadly, they are all probably dead.

I might not even make it out of here. I don’t want to die here without my friends and family knowing where I’ve been. That would be cruel. I should at least get some last words before being sent here. I don’t want the last thing someone remembers me by as a simple ‘bye’. I want to have a deep conversation with my best friends and family. I crave fixing up some arguments that were left unsettled. I want to make it all right before I am viciously murdered by some doctor that was looking inside my brain.

Just the thought of never seeing Vikk, Brandon, Kenny, Mitch, or any of my close friends brings tears to my eye. I’ve never pondered the inevitability of death or anything close, so just the idea that I’ll never get out of here alive is a bit daunting. It’s overwhelming. No one at my age or lower should have to think about it. That’s something you should accept at age fifty or something. Not seventeen, almost eighteen.

A single teardrop flows down my face. One tear turns into two, which turns into a flood of tears drenching my face. Never in my life would I have thought that this is how my life would end. Just thirty minutes ago I wasn’t sad, yet now I am.

Maybe it’s because I’m finally out of shock. The adrenaline has worn out and so had my last shred of hope. I should’ve known once I first saw the first shade of red that something was wrong. I should’ve told Vikk to help me with this situation and then maybe he would know that I was here. If I hadn’t been so terrified of what other people would think and just told someone, this might not have happened. God dammit, I’m such an idiot!

I punch myself in the arm over and over again. I’m now stuck in a paradox of being poked in the brain and sobbing so hard and I lose my voice. This is not how I want to go out. I’ve only been in here for about an hour and I’m already losing it. Of course I am… I’m too weak to handle anything. No wonder I’m stuck in here. If I was stronger, I could have fought off that British twat that knocked me to the ground.

After about ten minutes, the tears finally stop. What’s left behind my eyes as red as my bedroom walls and tear stains down my cheeks. A lump in my throat is the only thing keeping me from weeping even more.

“My dignity has disappeared and my hope is in the shredder. I’m going to be stuck in here forever,” I speak in a shaky voice.

A thought comes to mind as the words drift out of my mouth. Over on my side table is some paper and pencils Mat gave me. I snatch them up and begin drawing.

Stroke after stoke, line after line, a picture begins to form. All my emotions flood onto the blank canvas in a matter of minutes. The drawing begins to show the rollercoaster of feelings I’ve had over the intense months. It goes from happiness, to confusion, to freedom, to frustration, to finally sadness.

I press my pencil against the page one more time and finally my masterpiece is complete. There, staring back at me, is a portrait of some man. His lips are slightly grinning and his eyebrows are somewhat angled upward, giving the sense of content, but his eyes revel a different story. They’re dull and teary; faintly on the edge of despair. His hair is raggedy, as if he was either trying to tear it out because of stress or had just woke up. His shirt in shambles, representing the journey he had gone through just moments before.

That man… is me. In every way, it is me. The sentiment, the features, and the meaning. The portrait reflects emotion upon emotion. Even if you were to take a sudden glance at it, your mind would grasp the meaning in a moment. You would finally realize that this man is broken. His only quest is to fool the ones he loves into thinking that he’s fine; to make everyone think he is perfect, but he’s not. He has flaws and scars. He can’t grab ahold of the meaning of his expedition to the inside of his sanity. Yet, he still hides his mistakes with a smile that tells everyone he’s fine. That he’s capable of anything and everything. All this does is put a burden on his shoulders. Soon enough, he knows he going to lose it. It could be today or tomorrow. Hell, it could be a year from now. But that doesn’t stop him from hiding who he truly is for the hopes of everyone thinking he’s fine. He’s perfect. He’s… normal.

A quite sob suddenly appears from my mouth. It’s all true. All I’ve ever thought was that I’m normal until I was cursed with this sight. I was able to breath easily knowing that I would never have to be in the same place as Vikk. He had told me many things. Things from being called names, to getting beat up, to someone attempting to break into his house and kidnap him. He has gone through so much shit that I can’t even comprehend, and yet here I am bitching about my situation. God, how conceited am I?

Multiple tears hit my portrait in a way that tells me to stop all these feeling. That I should try to think my way out of the problem. Yet… I can’t. My brain has already dug a hole inside of me so deep that Tsereve Mountain wouldn’t fill it completely. It’s as if I have thousands of handcuffs my my arms and legs making me unable to move.

My tears become more violent. They rush out of my eyes quickly and drench my entire paper. They want me to hide my shame and figure out a plan, but I can’t. I weep more and more until I have not more tears left. All that’s left behind is a teen who’s a shell of his former self.

I guess I finally lost myself entirely.