Some days I hate my life. Most days I think I like it. I don’t really care. Most days, my life is a blur of color. Sometimes it’s a rainbow-with sparkles that make you dizzy. I wake up and see red. Mainly, because I don’t want to get up and mornings make my head hurt in weird places. Like that little spot behind my ear, that makes my head split in two, even though I have a memory-foam pillow. Red like the splotches on my face and my toenails, to remind me to be bold and fierce.
I hate red.
Orange is when it hurts to be nice. It’s supposed to be the color of creativity, but I sure wouldn’t know, because I can never think of a creative answer when someone asks me what I plan to do with the rest of my life. There isn’t a safe answer to that, not for them anyway. Creativity is so overrated.
Orange is blah.
My rainbow changes to yellow somewhere before lunchtime. This is probably because it means I’m about to pretend to raid the vending machines and that’s always fun. At least for me, anyway, or my brain, the rest of me doesn’t care too much. It would rather think that I exercised and drank water over Dr. Pepper. Yuck. It can't kill me, but I’ll survive quite nicely on bananas and pineapple. The world should be wonderful.
Yellow is cool.
Everything’s going green in the world. Everything except me; I do what little part I can to make a difference somewhere, but once in awhile, I get really bored with it. Then I realize if I change two or three things and kept on with everything else the way it was, I could do so much more. Or at least, that is what they would have me to believe.
Green…is a liar.
I’ve got the tune for blue stuck inside my head. It’s a symphony of everything life-related, the sound of tears dripping onto velvet pillow, those twangy guitars in lousy country songs and the ocean lapping at fading beaches. It is something completely and entirely different than the serenity the word evokes.
Now there’s just purple left. I don’t know what it’s good for, but it is a great color for eyeliner. Some people think I’m nuts to wear colors that stand out so much, but I don’t really care anymore. After all, twenty-one is the age of everything, you can’t do anything right and therefore you must be doing something wrong and in between that, there’s nothing. That’s where purple fits in. At least, that’s where I think it should fit in. I don’t know…most days I wish that things were better.
The sound of running feet makes my head wince. I already know what is coming next and I dread it more than the color black…or white…or that misty, foggy gray in between. The dorm room door bursts open and Mia, the fashion-designer-in-training, hurls herself into the room, in the usual frantic frenzy.
I brace for impact, and wait.
Doll. Doll. Where is that stupid doll?
Mia frantically pawed through the laundry pile on the bed and then dug through the back-up satchel underneath the desk. She was going to be late for design class if she didn’t find the miniature mannequin soon.
Her thoughts strung themselves together and clicked. Mia dove for the dresser drawers and emptied the contents out until the bed was no longer visible. She sank, wearily onto the pile of clothes, staring at the poster sticking out of her knapsack.
A strangled sound left her lips as she lunged to the art kit and plucked the wooden doll from the shadowy depths. It looked as if it’d been asleep, surrounded by colorful crayons and shimmering fabrics.
Mia fished through the handfuls of glittery gauze and drew out one wildly colored swath of rainbow. She quickly wrapped it around the model-doll and aimed for the door, pausing to grab her original satchel on the way out.
“Inika?” She whispered, tucking the doll inside her jacket pocket. “I didn’t mean to leave you in there. You okay?”
The doll shivered inside her pocket.
Mia gently patted the wooden head. “Sorry. Bad dreams?”
There was a snort. “Lousy crayons.”
“Sorry. I left the pastels-”
“I know, just hurry up already.”
“I’m going, I’m going…” Mia grumbled. “Slave driver.”
“Inika? Shut up!”
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