Rose Gold| Paint series

3.Green

It had been two days after the infamous breakdown of the century as he called it. He was almost glad that no one was around to witness him crying, it was almost calming to let out his feelings over a incident that was bound to leave a few if not many mental scars. What he couldn't be glad about was the scolding that caused his head to throb. The comparison of him with his brother was becoming too much to bear, a feeling rising up within his body, simmering like food on the stove in his stomach until it comes back up in the form of a color that he had grown to despise. It didn't really help that today was an infamous 'dress up' day as they called it and the comparison of all the nice and pretty clothings he saw people wear as they marched inside the school halls was enough to cause his whole body to burn with green.

He had been almost delighted to hear that the teacher was letting him do his art in the art room yet the excitement could only dwindle when he noticed that apart from his own emotional master pieces, there were others hung up on the walls, framed on the boards, and carefully perched on the racks that were in each corner. The color bubbled up within him again as he let his foot fly forward, kicking a stray bucket that crashed to the floor. Green liquid flowed out, managing to embed itself within the cracks of the tiles and continue running smoothly until it hits the dead end, the wall.

In much ways, the paint that flowed along the crack of the tiles was like the emotion that was flooding through his veins except this one didn't have a dead end. It kept going until all that remained was a torn soul who soon regrets every action that emotion made him perform. Trying to ignore the green paint that was all over the ground, he sat back upon his stool, brush in hand, lips set into a thin line, eyes downcast and shoulders tensed. What was there to detail now? He couldn't get the comparisons away from his brain—

He was small and too skinny.

They were big and large with muscles

He didn't have any pretty clothes and wore a outfit that was suited for the poor.

They had extravagant clothes and wore outfits that were suited for the rich.

It just wasn't FAIR.

He gripped the brush tighter within his dainty fingers, breathing through his nose to keep a composure of calmness and stability. Slowly enough, he dipped it within a bucket, watching the brush drip with green paint.

Green was a illness. A illness that you catch when you use comparison on yourself with others. You become sick with green and that, isn't a very pretty sight. The illness will have you glaring at these people, you'll wish they were never born, that you could have what they had, that you could be what they are, you abandon your own life in favor of trying to live someone else's and in turn, you get broken down as green shuts down the most important organ you need: Your feelings.

He brushed a small streak and then another and then two more but as his eyes continued to scatter around towards the other paintings, his grip tightened and his shoulders slumped just a bit as he grabbed the edges of the paper and tugged on it harshly, the sound of crinkling paper soon filling the room as he threw it within the waste bin once more. His lips curled into a frown, his eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes continued to narrow into a slitting glare as he stared at the blank canvas. He had to be better than them, he had to be the best.

A noise echoed across the room. It sounded much like wood cracking before it broke completely. A strangled cry left the boy's mouth as he dropped the wooden brush to the ground. The smell of iron wafted up his nostrils as his breathing turned into erratic gasps of breathe. He shook his left hand softly, watching red splatter against his jeans and sweater.

That was another thing Green does. It hurts you, it clouds your senses and judgment until you find yourself bleeding out on the cold, hard, floor. It makes you do irrational things, abandon good projects and ideas, and tears your soul apart even more than the last colors had done. Green was a illness, a terrible illness.

Holding his left hand with a bunch of white paper he had found, he twirled another brush within his right hand, dainty fingers brushing against the wood softly. He closed his eyes once more, breathing through his nose as the brush pressed up against the paper and seemed to move of its own accord. What caused him to snap his eyes open was the sound of a door swinging open and a voice booming within his ears.

"Aren't you the lovely artist?"

He paused, the masterpiece was done yet he didn't move, not yet anyways as he side glanced to the door, noticing a young male, dressed in what he presumed to be gang clothes. A perfect dress up idea for the boy who rode a bike that started with 'M'.

"It's horrible."

He didn't know why he was talking to the other male, perhaps it was the reason that he wanted to voice out his feelings? That he wanted someone to cure his illness?

A hand reached forward, fingers wrapping around his wrist as his own arm was pulled upwards. Said fingers slowly pulled his own apart from his clenched fist, making them straight so that they pointed towards the large shelf that held his paintings.

"I think you meant beautiful."

The next masterpiece of the day stood on the shelf that day. A boy that was in a hospital bed, coughing up green as multiple cuts oozed black and grey. The boy had a illness and he had let it corrupt him until he was broken.

Green is a illness that not many people want to have but be a good lad and cure it with your own colors.

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Hey guys! Another update! I probably won't get them out this fast though since I'm sick now. Sorry if it's low quality or anything.