The Colour Within

Chapter 1

A/N
HERE IT IS! THE FIRST CHAPTER OF WHAT WILL PROBABLY A SH*TTYLY WRITTEN BOOK....HAVE FUN MA DUUUDDEEES

~Mae

Robyn

Death takes pity on us.

It's painful but then- nothing. Just the quick bliss of being free, and who knows what after that. It takes some of the best of us, and the worst. It took my dear mother, it only took a swift knife to end the light in her eyes.

My dad remarried after a few years of mourning. "Please call me Madame Morgenstern my dear" was what she told me before I even had the chance to speak, I was only nine back then- so young, so powerless.

Her daughter's came with her, they abide the rules and are actually pretty nice people, just scared....so scared all the time.

She had some harsh rules which she brought down like a hammer on the family:
-no running
-no singing
-no dancing
-no rule breaking
-no arting
-no bright colours
-no dirt
-no television
-everybody in the family must abide god's will

And worse of all:

- no expression of character through art or clothing or writing etc.

Of course my father was only too happy to succumb to the rules, punishing those of us who dared to disobey. Out of the 5 of us, I was the only one who ever broke the rules.

I hated them.

Art, music, writing- it was my life. I couldn't imagine a world without them. So whenever I was at school the rules were out the window, I sketched, wrote, played and had fun doing it.

I had to hide all of my stuff away in a loose floorboard in my room though, they would kill me if they found out. At home it's so monotonous and dull, it's killing me inside. Sit still, look pretty, wear the faded colours they call fashion, play dollhouse - don't die before you've had the chance to live.

So that's my life, or at least what it's been for the last 5 years. And I'm sick of it all- and I'm not alone with this thought. My sisters are the same, same thoughts, but we also share the common fear: Her.

Her methods of keeping you in line are brutal. Horrifying. Gory. She might as well be the Grim Reaper. It's not like my father's of any help, he's a kiss ass and too blind to do anything to help us.

The twins dance at school, creating their own pieces of harmony, sometimes we collaborate and I help to write the music they dance to. It's calming, the only bliss we get in a day before we're forced to go back home.

If home is where the heart is, then we're all f*cked. This hell hole is so plain it looks like the inside of a wooden coffin. The Victorian styling makes it look like a haunted house that's going to eat up your life, day by day. Hour by hour. Minute by minute. Second by second. Faded photos of "fun" line the maze of corridors, ghosts of colour slipping away from the walls. Slowly, slowly, succumb to the pain. Become emotionless. Conceal it all away in a box in the attic.

That's what I did. Never feeling anything but numbness, hiding my thoughts away in a journal hidden beneath the floor, never seeming to have any emotions. It's the same damn routine everyday and I'm sick of it all. I wish I could just wrap it all up in a ball and throw it into the flaming depths of hell.

But hey that's just me I guess, laying here on my grey bed, in my grey room, looking up at the grey ceiling, in my grey pajamas. Rolling over, I check the clock on my desk- 3am. It's all the same, never being able to sleep properly, acting like everything is fine. Nothing matters anymore, I might as well be dead. Sitting up, I stretch my arms, reaching for the stars where the world must be a hell of a lot nicer.

Another day, another load of schieße to put up with. What if this was different? What would it be like if dad had never remarried? I chuckle at the thought- it would full of colour that's for sure.