A short, touching story of a lonely girl whose world is painted in only one shade of colour: black. She hated the barrier and lost interest in her life until she met Hope, who suffers similar problems, which later became her inspiration.
Hope suffer...
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It was storming. There was hate in the roaring of the winds, it carried my hair around my face, and encouraged strands of hair to hurtfully whip the surface of my skin. I could hear thunder: sudden loud cracks which sends shock to paralyze my body.
I believed there was a famous artist who lived inside my eyes, but he doesn't like me, I know because he re-painted my world with only one shade of colour: black. We were on good terms before, he loved painting rainbows across my eyes and decorates pictures I see everyday with beautiful textures and shades of colours. I guess he was getting old, and couldn't put much efforts into painting anymore... so he retired. After his retirement, there was no more rainbows, no more shades of green carpets spreading across the land, no more white cottons on the azure sky. What was left was an endless night without the illumination of the stars or moons.
My hair wasn't flying around anymore, instead, it was quietly collecting drops of rain. Both feets were glued onto the floor, what was around the ground I am standing on is unknown, there might be stairs, a pebble, a small animal, someone's feet... or maybe even quicksand. My body was constricted by my wet jacket and skirt, it felt uncomfortable and hard to breathe. Thunder. Panic engulfed me, terror washed over my mind. Suddenly I felt no raindrops on my skin, did the storm stop? I could still hear the rain, but it seems like I was protected, by a mysteriously barrier above me.
"What are you doing? You'll get sick!"
My head whirled to the right, where the owner of the foreign voice was. Oh. I forgot it was night time... I had a black barrier that restricted my curiosity and disabled me from seeing her appearance. The voice was... real, kind, worried, firm and full of spirit. Using the past colours the retired artist worked with before, I made a quick sketch in my mind: chestnut coloured hair, warm emerald eyes, roughly my age, slender figure. Who is she? Curiosity has self activated again and before I could stop myself, the question shot out from my mouth, aloud.
"Me? I don't know!"
She didn't hesitate, her strange response was concluded by a sweet chuckle that calmed my mind, it was the key that magically released all the worries caged inside me. For a moment all my four senses were concentrated on her. I couldn't see her, but I know definitely she's different from the others in the orphanage. Her mere presence wasn't normal, it was simply enchanting and rich with colours.
The thunder woke me up again. The girl probably read my facial expression, she offered to walk me back to the orphanage. I explained my fear of walking at night. I couldn't see her reaction, from a complete stranger who shield me against the storm to being spelt out my disability. There was a year of silence between us.
"We're the same!"
She suffers from amnesia, how she lost her memories to how she got to this orphanage... everything was forgotten. She goes by a new name: Hope. Hope's dream is to become a famous artist... An artist with one hand. How she lost her dominant left hand was unknown. But she's strong, she didn't let it bother herself, or allowed it to become a barrier that restricts her from her dream. Hope didn't stop surprising me. Even as a blind person, I could hear the bitterness behind her strong words. Hope's laughter really was melodious, it was peaceful to my ears and became the shield that blocked out the loudest explosion in the storm. There was no thunder anymore, the sound of the crashing down of the rain was gone. Did Hope scare away the thunderstorm?
I'm most amazed by being trusted and shared her short history despite we have only met minutes ago. I knew I was a lot better than everything she has been through. What face is she making now? I want to see her. Does she look like how I have imagined her to be? Anxiety and curiosity swallowed me again, but... I felt a touch. Something's holding my left hand. It was warm, like a hot cup of cocoa. Hope's hand. Her gentle grip washed away the anxiety and curiosity. I felt a tug.
"It's ok, let's go home!"
A new artist stepped into my life. She was my new hope in life.
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