Transparent Color's

January’s flower color was red, February’s color was purple, March’s color was green, and this month, the month of April is pink. Pink was the color we were so graciously given by the Controller. Each month we are given one special color and with this one special color a flower to be placed outside our homes. We are to take care of those flowers for the whole month, if it starts to welt before the month is over, you are fined with negligence of the Controller’s flower.

The Controller does not like to be defied, and he made it apparent about twenty years ago, two years and a week before my birth to be exact. Twelve rebels painted the wall of the Employers building all different colors. This, supposedly, was an act to show, we the citizens of this City, cannot be controlled. Only six hours later twelve men were hanged, and all color in the City destroyed. Now the only color we get are the special ones, like pink, each month to signify the twelve men that disobeyed the Controller.

My thoughts that leak through my pen continue… Pink is not just shown as a flower; the flower is more of a symbol. The controller has us incorporate the month’s color through the food we eat, decorations in shops and at school, and even the color ink we use to write with. An annoying factor, I prefer black!! Each woman and young girl is given the exact month’s color jeweled hair pin that you must wear outside the home. The men, a watch.

I stop the pen from moving and look up from my desk. The window is in front of me, so I look out it, and see the pink flower on the windowsill. It reaches up strong, with leaves out and lively. But what is that… one leaf is a little lower than the others. Not significantly, to be cautious about, but it makes me wonder. What if the flower knows my inner struggle and sympathizes? What if it lowers one of its leaves to defy its purpose? I wonder. I must put that thought out of my mind, for now. I lay down my pen and move from my desk.

As I move across the creek of the wooden floor, I feel the coolness on my bare feet. I approach my mother’s jewelry box and pull out her pink pin and place it gently on top of the dresser. With a deep shrug, I put my hair up in a loosely done bun. Some may say it’s too messy, but I really don’t care. I stick the pin in my hair and walk away from the faded memories that haunt me from that tiny treasured box. Staring into my mother’s mirror, I am faced with another memory. Lingering in the mirror all I see is gray and if you look closely a hint of pink within the mop of brown hair. As I put on my socks, I notice my chipped pink toe nails and am seized with laughter. I can see it now, people coming up to me and saying “My dear, how neglectful you are with your toes, do you not take pride with our gift of pink?”

I roll my eyes at the thought. Doesn’t really matter, I’m going to cover them up anyways; just like we all do with our thoughts and emotions each day.

Why is life so Dull…. Colorless?

Ugh! A thought, I hate random thoughts! Especially the ones you would rather not think about, but of course those are the ones that POP! BAM! sneak attack you in your subconscious. 18. Yes 18 is a dreadful number that I wish never existed. I guess I wouldn’t hate it as much if it didn’t represent the end on my existence as I know it. A smile crosses my face, the dramatic can be humorous at times; and humor can keep the tears away.

As I ponder my reflection in the mirror, I hear my little cousin’s voice calling me for breakfast.

“Maggie,” says Toby.