Bringing Color to You (ONGOING)

Chapter One LILY

I lay groggily in my bed before promptly kicking my heavy zebra print comforter off of myself in a hurry. School. I had forgotten all about setting my alarm to alert me to waking up for school. Ugh. I am really going to be late. I ran at a sprint, grabbed my clothes, a washrag, and towel, and I ran down the hall towards the downstairs bathroom to take a shower.

I took a very quick shower this time, and afterward, I dried off. I put on a t-shirt and jeans that my mom picked out for me. Go ahead and laugh all you want. I really don't care, and if you knew why my mom picks out my clothes you would probably pity me or worse... tell me about the colors I just can't see. I am a rarity in this world for unlike most of my color-blind peeps I cannot see color at all. Everything is in black and white. Most would say black and white is boring, mundane even, but not me. I find beauty in the only world I've ever known that's why I paint only as I see the world in black and white.

I glanced at the clock that seemed to be mocking me with its hands. Its hands showed that I had less than twenty minutes to finish getting ready before the bus came. I sprinted down the hall and ran upstairs towards the kitchen. I about knocked over my little brother in the process.

"Sorry, little bro. I didn't mean to," I spewed forth a quick apology. My little brother has quite a lot of strength though for he hit me and he hit me hard.

"Watch where you are going, freak! You almost made me fall down the stairs for crying out loud!"

"Look I said I was sorry, eeessshhh."

"Whatever," my brother nonchalantly said to me.

I have a mom and little brother. I used to have a dad who had the same rare color blindness as me. His name had been Sam. He had been a photographer. He died two years ago from a bad car accident and after that I emersed myself in my paintings. My dad had been the only one who understood me. He had been the only one who got why I painted in black and white. Now I have no one in my family who understands me.

My mom Elizabeth broke down after dad's death and started gorging herself on her favorite foods. I guess she was trying to eat away the pain. Now she weighs a whopping 420 lbs and is considered morbidly obese. My mom says I look more like dad than her, but to me, they both have the same hair and eye color black. Mom says I have dad's voluminous red hair and green eyes. She says too that I am super skinny like dad, and that I can see. I am skinny for I can eat a boat load of potato chips and not get fat. Mom tells me that she has charcoal brown eyes and black greasy hair. My mom also tells me that my twelve-year-old little brother looks a lot like the skinny version of her. I guess we both got dads super skinny genes.

My brother's name is Austin, and after my dad died he started sneaking out and just being an overall snotty bad kid. He has been in more fights than I can count. He has also been expelled more times than I can count causing us to move a lot from place to place. My brother also smokes cigarettes, and where he gets them from I don't have a clue. To be honest, the outburst from my brother about me almost knocking him downstairs is a completely commonplace reaction coming from him.

I rolled my eyes, ran up the last three steps, and headed the rest of the way to the kitchen. I opened the fridge and grabbed the jug of milk out. I looked into the cupboard for a bowl and dug in the drawers next to the place where the microwave sat for a spoon.

The bowls all looked the same to me albeit many different shades of black and white. Everything was in black and white which I didn't mind much. That is it seems most everyone else thinks that not seeing colors is a terrible, terrible debilitating disability. It can be sometimes; especially when you are looking for something to wear or when you have to read the paint bottle colors and remember where you poured which color in art class. My art teacher, Mrs. May doesn't seem to like my black and white artwork. She is always giving me D's and F's for them saying I should use my imagination and use color.

I grabbed the Apple Jacks cereal box from on top of the fridge, grabbed my bowl, grabbed the jug of milk, and poured the cereal and milk into the bowl. I then snatched my spoon and stuffed my face with cereal. I ate speedy quick. I barely tasted my food. I grabbed my backpack and put on my tennis shoes, and ran out the door.

I got on the bus, and that is where I saw him. He was sitting smack dab in the middle of the bus surrounded on all side by rambunctious people. The guy was sitting all hunched up, and he appeared to be writing something. I couldn't tell what it was though. He later put away his paper and began beating on his seat with two pencils in a rhymic way. I was mesmerized by his performance, and curious about his writing. I prayed that he hadn't seen me staring, but I guess my prayers weren't answered.

As soon as the bus ride began it ended. I had sat in the back so I was surprised to see new kid waiting on me.

"Hey, I saw you staring at me. I am flattered. My name is Max Smith, but you can call me Axe. I'm a poet, and colors inspire me in my poetry. And who might you be?"

"My name is Lily Jones, and I am a painter. I paint as I see the world devoid of color"

A/N: Following chapter to be written as soon as I have access to a computer. The idea is from a writing prompt I found online here on Wattpad. I just fell in love with the idea and thought to give my personal spin on it. I would love to give credit to the person who thought of the idea, but considering I never saved their book I'm at a loss.