Everyday I wake to continue fighting a losing battle. My grey tear-stained cheeks are virtually lifeless. All around me is black and white. White walls, black floors. Bright white smiles, dull dark frowns. Me? I'm grey. Typically someone as miserable as me would consider herself to be blue. But no. I'm grey. I haven't seen anything blue in a very long time. Blue means cheerful ocean waters and open skies. Blue means sparkling lively eyes. Blue, is a colour I yearn to experience . Blue is happiness.
I'm grey because I don't fit in. I'm not black, nor am I white, I'm grey. Unimportant. Unnoticeable. Fading.
Having driven past white trees and black footpaths, I finally arrive at my destination. The torturous education chamber. I lazily stroll past light white conversations and black buildings. Eventually I reach the bathrooms. I see them. The oppressors. Bullies. Once my most cherished friends, now the reason my world is in black and white. The reason I'm grey. My heart sinks to my shoes and I avoid them. They roll their eyes and whisper and hiss taunts as I slide past them.
"Crawling back to your home are you?"
"Filthy in there, like you"
I find it hard to believe these girls ever cared about me, probably because they never did. One day, one decided I wasn't good enough for her, and now I'm worth about as much as trash to all eight of them.
"Leave me alone," I say under my breath, with the girls well out of earshot.
If only I knew what I had done, so that maybe just maybe I could've apologized. And then, maybe, I wouldn't be where I am now. Sitting on a toilet lid, alone, surrounded by a black and white toilet cubicle.
The school day drags unbearably long as per usual. I mope through the day, weighed down by the hate poured on me relentlessly.
These means girls had demolished my spirit.
I'm so sick of being attacked by people who lack self-worth. I'm sick of being torn down by insecure bullies. I'm sick of only seeing the world around me in black and white. And I'm sick of being grey. I'm truly sick of this colourless life. Through the taunts and ridicule. Exclusion and rejection. Lying and deception. I've become a meaningless grey slab in a cruel black and whi reality.
My world is so bland and gloomy. Overwhelmingly underwhelming.
I'm searching for a reason to exist. I need a reason to continue this uphill battle, this arduous journey. I've come to a conclusion.
The only way to see colour again is to witness the darkest black of all.
Translation-
The only way to live again is to die.
As I ponder this, I travel to the train station. Solo, with a bag on my back.
I sit on the platform, all alone, yet completely surrounded. Not by people, but by darkness. Black. All the words shot at me, degrading me, tearing me down. Black. The countless times I've hurt myself to feel something again, but even my own blood is black. I can find no escape from this dull world I'm now immersed in. I can find no escape from the tragedy that is my life.
I hear a distant chuckle of a train progressing along the tracks.
Words can kill. Do people realise that? Words can back people into corners, leaving them only one option. One way out of their hell. How don't people know? Words. Can. Kill.
I leap in front of the first carriage. In one motion my body is swept up. I feel so light so free. This freedom is accompanied by a splitting pain all over.
Red! A colour I've yearned to see! My eyes have finally been opened to the glary joys of colour! But it's too late. The flash of red is my own, as the train efficiently relieves me of the strain of black and white. Zooming fast the country side an array of colours attack me. Fluorescent greens, calming blues, yellow rays, orange and purple blotches all at once pounce on my vision. As I dribble down the front of the train, my soul is at last satisfied.
I'd lived in black and white for longer than my fragile heart could handle and almost forgot how colour felt. I was finally happy, finally experiencing the rainbow for the last, most precious time, as the last of my life was drained and my muddled red limbs drifted away to a place where there is eternal colour. The serenity of rest. Death.
Words can kill. They can steal colour and happiness. They can crush dreams and lives. They can rob can people of their meaning and worth.
They do all these things, and unfortunately, some are unable to rebuild their torn hearts, so they let them go instead. They find their colour elsewhere. They find it in death.
-P
*Let me know what you guys think :)*
