The World Without Colour

Chapter Three

Days went by and on my wanderings of the house I'd always found my self outside Laylas' art room. I would stand there and hesitate for a moment, in fear of the painted boy and the mad woman.
At dinner she would stare at me intently as if looking for some sort of reaction. I'd always excuse my self, conscious of her squinted eyes piercing through me.
I would run to my bedroom and swing open the wibdow where I watch the sun set over the lush green hills with the scent of pollen and flowers mingling in the air. Sometimes I would sit even longer, just to watch the mass of white stars speckling the dark sky.
I would sleep then, content with the fact that even the loneliest people can find beauty in this strange world.

As on this sweltering, Summer morning, I found my self I'm the company of mother. The conservatory was quite cool and spacious. The Windows were wide open, letting in a pleasuring draft that cooled the senses.

"How are you feeling today mother?" I ask, my eyes skimming her hollow and taunt face. She had gotten a slight glow to her skin since the cold months passed but she still looked horribly sickly.
Her skin was so paper thin you could see her bones protruding out. When she coughed, excess amounts of blood and phlegm would come up.
It made me upset and frustrated that I couldn't help her but the Doctor is here. He'll make her better, I hope.

I move to the couch next to her and stroke her thin and dry brown hair. With deft and nimble fingers I tie it back into a plait, the same way she wore it before she got sick.

"You look beautiful mother" I lie.

She did not seem to register anything I was saying. Her eyes were glazed over, suggesting she was in a world of her own. Maybe it was all those drugs the doctor gave her. He did say they would change her behaviour, they way she processed things in her mind.

I sigh heavily and look out the window. How could she look at the same thing day in and day out? It was rather frustrating to me.
I sit with her in silence for a while before getting up to leave. Just as I reach the door I hear her weak and raspy voice.

"A storm. Tonight"

I chew the inside of my lip and watch as her grey eyes seem to glaze over again.

I didn't feel like wandering around the house anymore so instead I retreat back into the confines of my room.

As always,I sit by the window and watch the morning melt into midday.
A wind began to whip my hair around and sent sudden rivulets of shivers through my body.
I shut the window and pull a warm shawl around my shoulders. The thoughts of having dinner with Layla had perished my hunger. I opted to have an early night instead.

My dreams were plagued by the past, a hurtful reminder as to how happy I was. My senses played with my mind, my visions created sights of my mother and father when they were happy.
When they would both have a glass of brandy in front of the fires on a cold evening, when they would laugh and dance in each other's company, when they loved me.

Now Father was never home because he could not stand the sight of either of us and I don't think mother is capable of feeling anything. The dead nor dying can feel, can they?

On that morbid note I wake to the flash of lightning and the clap of thunder. Mother was right. A storm, tonight.
Rain lashed against the window and the wind howled like a thousand hungry wolves.

I sat up in my bed and looked out the window. A knawing hunger rumbled my stomach and I instantly regretted not going down for dinner.

A flash of lightning blinded me for a moment. I shut my eyes tight and when I opened them I saw him. My cry of fear was lost among the roar of thunder.

The boy snaps his head in my direction, a sudden panic registering on his solemn face.

"No, no, don't be afraid!" He exclaims and puts a spindly finger to his lip.