LOVE. No other name.

COLORED 1

COLORED 1:

                The scenery was as peaceful as ever. This was the part of the park only a few people went to, this late in the afternoon. It was better that way, so that only the whispers of the wind, the occasional dancing of leaves, the birds and their songs, the chitter and chatter of a few other animals and a number of silence-loving, if not lost, people would break the quietness of this place.

                That was the only thing, aside from one classic-designed bench, old but in good condition, and a plain trash can emptied by park personnel every morning, that this place had. It’s what made it special yet neglected. It was sometimes so silent that you could hear your own thoughts, like someone else had spoken them.

                I heard a young woman (she probably was 21 or something close to that) sigh as she walked towards the bench. She was wearing a simple but fashionable sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. She brought a backpack that obviously didn’t hold too much, and slowly she sat down. I gazed at her face, contorted with frustration and disappointment, while she took out a…large black leather-covered notebook? Silly me, written on the cover, in silver capital letters, was the label, “SKETCHBOOK”. I was still laughing at myself for that mistake, when all of a sudden, she furiously tore out pages of wonderful drawings from her sketchbook with tears falling from her eyes. Tear, crumple, throw in the trash can, tear crumple, throw---OOPS! I recognized a man, maybe in his late fifties, who came here just the other week, coming towards the bench in the path where the trash can was located. Tossing crumpled paper in the general direction of the trash can and not noticing the man because of her confusion, the woman accidentally hit the old man’s leg with a ball of paper, and then her cycle of tearing, crumpling and throwing stopped. Unsure of what to do, the woman sat still and stared at the man, who was picking up the paper that now fell near his foot, and opening it, trying to straighten it up to take a better look at it.

                She brings herself to say something, and so she stutters, “S-sorry. S-sorry, Sir.” She closes her sketchbook and puts it back in her backpack, head bowed.

                “Sorry for what? Sorry because you have such a talent in the art of drawing, while I can’t even scribble anything more than a decent stick man?” he smiles. “It’s okay, my dear.”

                She buries her face in her hands, if it was because of embarrassment, being flattered, or stifling tears, I’m not sure. “T-thanks, Sir.” still stammering, she continues, “Y-you didn’t have to lie about that, though. My boss is right, I suck.”

                The old man sat on the bench, just close enough to her to make her feel his presence without making her feel awkward. “I’m old but I’m not blind. I can still see clear enough to see how amazing your works are… and how majestic the view is.”

                This makes her curious enough to put down her hands and ask, “The view?” And then she sees it, the sun was dipping lower into the horizon, the sky was flaming with shades of yellow and orange, but hints of purple and blue came early, as if to warn the blazes that in a few moments, they would be engulfed by a sea of dark blue.

                “If your boss can’t appreciate your art, it’s his loss. And hey, what’s your name?” was all he needed to say, and then his words, along with the view, made her eyes twinkle with fresh hope and courage to deal with life’s difficulties.

                She speaks with a surge of newfound hopefulness, “It’s Diana, Sir.”

                “Hey Diana, how about this view in front of us right now, care to do art with it?”

                She flashes him a sweet, genuine smile, which he instantly returns.

--NOTE:

The first two chapters are seemingly unconnected, but please read on, and you'll find out how these seemingly unrelated worlds are associated with one another. Just a clarification, the two narrators here are the narrator for Black and White, and the narrator for Colored. By the way, the title of the chapters also imply something. :))