Iridescent

Chapter 1: Beige

A/n: Here's another attempt at writing. This story came to me in the middle of writing my first story. I hope you enjoy it.

This story will shift POV between the two protagonists, which is also a first for me. So, that saying...here's a glimpse of our female lead. ☺️

"You know, for someone named after something that can make a rainbow and, you know, a happy emotion, You my dear Prism Joy, have the blandest and saddest closet in the civilized world." My best friend Marj exclaimed. Hands on her hips standing in front of my closet and shaking her head.

" Well, Marjoram , for someone named after a spice...you're..". I started to say.

"hmmm?" Marj raised her eyebrow, daring me to even continue my sentence. Nobody is allowed to call her Marjoram...and live.

I laughed. "Nothing.." I grinned at her.

"But, seriously, why do you insist on having...uh..blah clothes?" she asked, waving around her hands, gesturing at my monochromatic clothes. "Looking at your closet is making me physically sick." She rolled her eyes at me.

"You know why." I groaned at her. Ever since I can remember my parents would dress me up in wild, loud colors to compliment the equally louder ones that they were wearing. As a child, I loved it because everyday felt like I was playing dress up. My parents were free spirited and acted like it.  Everywhere we go, people would stare. At first I didn't care much, until kindergarten, when Joshua Finkel and his snot nosed posse cornered me in the playground and started calling me a clown and asking from what circus I came from. I, of course, punched him in the face and he pushed me to the ground. So there I was clothes splattered with mud, looking up at this buck-toothed boy who kept calling me a circus clown, when the entire population of our kindergarten playground came rushing over and started laughing at me. Thankfully the proctors finally broke the group and picked up my tear stained, mud covered self.

Long story short, our parents were called in, further expounding my embarrassment when all of them saw my parents and what they were wearing. I couldn't forget the faces of my classmates, teachers and principal as they looked at my parents and snickered, whispering amongst themselves. It was pretty life changing in the eyes of a 6 year old. It was a harsh wake up call to the reality of life.

It was after that I fought tooth and nail to get the most boring and blandest clothing I can get my hands on. I made it my mission to blend into the background, both in appearance and attitude. To be called boring was something I aspired to become. My parents felt and saw what it did to me, they tried to tell me that they were all bullies who just didn't know any better. But I was a 6 yr old child. None of that mattered to me. I just wanted to belong.

" Girl, I'm not telling you to wear clothes that look like a unicorn vomited all over it." she rolled her eyes. " Just a little pop of color. that's all"

I shrugged. " Never found the need for it." I flopped back unto my bed. Yup, I pounded that need for color deep inside me. Don't get me wrong, I think colors are pretty but I feel that strong colors were like a siren, calling for attention, and that just wasn't me. I couldn't handle attention. I wouldn't know how to. I was more than content with just being a wallflower. A nobody.

"I mean, even your apartment needs an injection of color. Everything is so..beige" she muttered. Her mouth curling up in disgust. "I feel like I am in a desert"

I looked around at my room. White walls, beige carpet, cream curtains, tan colored bed sheets, sand colored bed side table with a porcelain lamp on it. Yeah, so maybe my palatte inspiration for my bedroom is the desert. So what? It was perfectly safe and acceptable.