C O L O R S

G R E E N

He's a coward. There's no way he can do it. There really is nothing he is good at.

Kris decides to spend his break in Hot Mugs during lunch time with those thoughts running inside his head. He's frozen still on his seat as the smoke from his steaming coffee dances like ballerinas in a perfect pirouette. It seems like he's unconscious but everything inside him is running in high tempo, altering his steady thinking.

He had never been so close in doing it, and last night's proven that he can if he will. The next time, all he needs to do is to close his inside world from the outside and stop listening to what anyone has to say. He shouldn't be affected on purple words because if he does then his perspectives will change.

And not all people can handle change.

Change will just do him wrong even more, and with the burden on his back, he doesn't think he can withstand it. It's better to kill the virus before it can even overcome the host, they say. Well for him, viruses are what people are. But he doesn't think he can take them off, so the best solution he can probably see is to terminate the host before it becomes overran.

The commotion from across the road gets the corner of his eye. It seems that the owner is finally adorning his souvenir store with led lights and Christmas lanterns. Kris doesn't think it's too early for decorations. What he can't believe is the fact that he's still actually breathing and it's nearing Christmas.

Christmas.

A season of gift-giving, acquaintances, and love. Does it matter? Of course not. The last time he's celebrated Christmas is two years ago, with his brother that is now gone and never coming back.

And just like how his memory is gradually being blown by the wind; that is Christmas for Kris. As years go by, the essence of that so-called season of love for him is being drifted away, too, along with its relevance.

He tugs the sleeves of his hoodie and brings his attention back to his almost cold coffee. Aside from the stirring toppings in his cup, he can also see his reflection staring back at him. Brown eyes, pale and bruised skin, peeling lips, and the contours of his face is highly evident. Maybe he's lost weight. He unveils the hood off his head to see a vague image of his black-brown hair that needs cutting. It's not soft either, probably because of always being washed by the rain. He doesn't use the comb, too. He couldn't care less.

The idea of him being dead instantly jumps in his thoughts. Will someone ever miss those brown eyes of his? Will anyone be lonely by the absence of that messy hair that needs cutting? Will him being gone be a big deal?

Most of the times, he thinks of running away from the cruel world and leave everything behind with no regrets. But sometimes, he also wonders if there is someone out there who really cares.

"But this is living," he thinks. Living is surviving life to the best of your knowledge and Kris has reached his extent. He can't do it anymore.

Later that night he will fill the tub to the brim and slip in it. And as the water overflows because of his weight, he will lay down until his back touches the bottom, and he will close his eyes. He will sleep until he can do it forever.

He nods by that thought before stirring his untouched coffee once again. He doesn't drink caffeine, that's why. The only reason he's bought one is just so he can stay there without getting awkward looks from the store crews.

Glancing at his watch, it's only 9:11 and he will have to go to P.E at that moment but he refuses. Bad memories accompany that subject. Bad memories that include hiding inside one of the cubicles the whole period to evade the jocks from humiliating him over and over again. Bad memories of having to stay in his P.E kit that is drenched by the bucket of water Gregory has poured over him.