Colourless.

                                                               Colourless.

I was a glowing winter White, young without knowledge, in keen want. They knocked on my door late at night.
Him all wet dark Grape, her Yellow sunflower sharp, talking about God with insight.
‘You’re welcome to come to our meeting on Sunday.’ she said.
They left my White and I shone bright, all winter sun with no colour of my own.
On Sunday, I went along to their meeting, seeing an array of colours, Green, Gold’s and many shades of Blue. The Blues at first blended in their palette, mixing well among Orange wives tangy and sweet. I was amazed by the scene and wanted to blend in, after all White is not a colour.

They soon got to work with their paintbrushes stroking me gently with Reds, Silver and Purple. I was many colours for a while; splashing rainbow drops on all until I went home. The colour would drain away but my White was no longer bright but a dull chalky grey. I went back and rubbed against them soaking up their colours. My White disappeared. What was left was the muddy swirl, too many shades fighting to surface.
Then Red came along, glossy, new, making me feel I could be too. So I married Red, his fresh glossy new car look against my muddy complexion. What a sight!

Sunflower Yellow had gone sour at the thought of my muddy splashes. Her vomit sharp yellow stung my eyes and I hid in shame from dark Grape that had now melted to rotten brown mulch.  The many Blues dominated my view, weighing me down dark in a sea of rules and regulations.
‘That skirt is too short.’ A Blue commented.
‘Your top is too low.’ exclaimed another.

Red said we should start again, so, I got us a new house to go with his new Red look. I raised a son, he too was white, oh so white gleaming so high that other colours were blinded by him. He out shone every colour.
A new congregation of new colours. Pale baby blues, Caribbean blues, Royal blues, box blue and my muddy colour. It didn’t work. The canvas blurred, it was too messy too black and blue and bruised.
Red had gone all Pink and had to leave. The other colours watched and pitied the muddy washed girl. Pity is an awful feeling to eat for so long. Pity is a spot, oozing with pus. If you scratch it, it will bleed.
I bled away the sharp daffodil Yellow with it’s wasp like sting. The Purple rotted and dripped down into the earth. The Blues lost interest and faded way. The Gold’s and Green’s washed away blurring any that came to see.

 Colourless glass was left. I reflect all colours now, mirroring green, blue, pink orange, yellow whatever colour I want to be. It scared the other colours so I left them in their plain dye cast. Being one colour is no fun, that’s why there are so many colours to choose from.