Colors
by Anonymous
She was red. She was fiery curls. She was explosions and screams. She was the blood that ran hot through her veins and the passion in her heart. But she was also the sun setting at the end of a summer day and a cherry in the bottom of a drink. She was loyalty, she was love. She was a Chrysanthemum. She was hotheaded and sweet at the same time.
He was yellow. He was messed up hair pointing in all directions. He was the color of dandelions in Spring, the color of the sun. He was cheerful, bright and always laughing. He was excitement. But he was also lightning, a destructive force. The wails of people in despair. He was a Marigold. He was warm, he was bright, but was a force to be reckoned with.
Together they made orange. The color of a campfire, the color of heat. Together they were a couple, holding hands and placing idle kisses on each others cheeks. They were playful insults, punches and shove, shameless flirting. They were fire, but they were love. They were perfect.
That day was different though. That day was grey. Rain fell, heavy and hard, making everything wilt. The sky was clouds, dark and heavy. The town was dead, lights off. A pistol caught in the meager light, and the single shot rang out. The only color to break the grey scale was the blood, mingling with the rain. A cry. A whisper. “I love you.”
He was black. There were whispers of a time once, maybe, when he held a different color, but not anymore. He was the color of the sky at night, no stars and moon. He is the color of raven’s feather, resting alone on the ground, contradicting every color surrounding it. He's was the color of hatred, sadness and death. He was the color of a man who gave up.
She was blue. The color of the sky. The color of a lake shining in the sun. She was the color of Sapphire and beautiful gems, and that's what she was, precious and beautiful. But she was the color of cold dead lips, the color of ice. Cold, collected and hard.
The conversation was pink. Full of love, full of happiness. She told him her memories of the red girl. She was her friend. She told him that the girl was kind and wonderful. Her love was reading a book in the kitchen while your significant other cooks. It was being overly romantic for the one you love. It was full of life.
He smiled and it was green. Almost as bright as it once was, but not the same. It never would be. The smile was simple and sad. It was grass, coated with frost. His eyes were sadder. They were the color of moss, hiding underneath the waterfall, clinging desperately to the rocks. They were the color of a storm, calling for a tornado. They were loud, but quiet.
The day was purple. It was fear. It was longing. Darker shades twisted as his back was shoved to the brick wall outside the pub. The sky called for rain, dark clouds gathering. The tall man was cold and rigid. He was the color of electricity. He was always moving, hands hitting every inch of bare skin. The boy felt tears fall.
Red. The color of explosions. The sound of skin hitting skin, as the boy tried to push the man away. The color of a fight. The color of her. But it wasn't the same color. It was darker, the color of an apple, sitting in the tree. This was a cherry pie, sweet but dark. Those flame colored curls he knew long ago.
The world turned white. It slowed and there was no noise.
He turned and smiled. Pink the color of love.
The boy exploded with color. Yellow. Shining. Bright. Loud.
They embraced, colors mingling once again. Orange shone through the clouds.
They were perfect.
He was yellow. He was messed up hair pointing in all directions. He was the color of dandelions in Spring, the color of the sun. He was cheerful, bright and always laughing. He was excitement. But he was also lightning, a destructive force. The wails of people in despair. He was a Marigold. He was warm, he was bright, but was a force to be reckoned with.
Together they made orange. The color of a campfire, the color of heat. Together they were a couple, holding hands and placing idle kisses on each others cheeks. They were playful insults, punches and shove, shameless flirting. They were fire, but they were love. They were perfect.
That day was different though. That day was grey. Rain fell, heavy and hard, making everything wilt. The sky was clouds, dark and heavy. The town was dead, lights off. A pistol caught in the meager light, and the single shot rang out. The only color to break the grey scale was the blood, mingling with the rain. A cry. A whisper. “I love you.”
He was black. There were whispers of a time once, maybe, when he held a different color, but not anymore. He was the color of the sky at night, no stars and moon. He is the color of raven’s feather, resting alone on the ground, contradicting every color surrounding it. He's was the color of hatred, sadness and death. He was the color of a man who gave up.
She was blue. The color of the sky. The color of a lake shining in the sun. She was the color of Sapphire and beautiful gems, and that's what she was, precious and beautiful. But she was the color of cold dead lips, the color of ice. Cold, collected and hard.
The conversation was pink. Full of love, full of happiness. She told him her memories of the red girl. She was her friend. She told him that the girl was kind and wonderful. Her love was reading a book in the kitchen while your significant other cooks. It was being overly romantic for the one you love. It was full of life.
He smiled and it was green. Almost as bright as it once was, but not the same. It never would be. The smile was simple and sad. It was grass, coated with frost. His eyes were sadder. They were the color of moss, hiding underneath the waterfall, clinging desperately to the rocks. They were the color of a storm, calling for a tornado. They were loud, but quiet.
The day was purple. It was fear. It was longing. Darker shades twisted as his back was shoved to the brick wall outside the pub. The sky called for rain, dark clouds gathering. The tall man was cold and rigid. He was the color of electricity. He was always moving, hands hitting every inch of bare skin. The boy felt tears fall.
Red. The color of explosions. The sound of skin hitting skin, as the boy tried to push the man away. The color of a fight. The color of her. But it wasn't the same color. It was darker, the color of an apple, sitting in the tree. This was a cherry pie, sweet but dark. Those flame colored curls he knew long ago.
The world turned white. It slowed and there was no noise.
He turned and smiled. Pink the color of love.
The boy exploded with color. Yellow. Shining. Bright. Loud.
They embraced, colors mingling once again. Orange shone through the clouds.
They were perfect.
