Black Is The Presence Of All Colors

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One singular person would know nothing about Oakley Kay Hastings with just a quick glance. The barista that hands over the change, the pedestrian waiting at the crosswalk, the teacher who grades every one of Oakley's essays. Everyone sees her as another growing teen, replaceable with the next. They only know what she looks like and would probably label her 'emo', which is only half correct. They see a quiet girl with her earbuds in and her black beanie and her poems and her good grades and they think 'the reserved kid'. They think they've got her figured out because they see 'reserved kids' every day. Why would she be any different? Oakley wonders that a lot. Not exactly why would she but instead, why is she.

Oakley can't really do anything else than embrace the label, as she is trapped in the cycle of high school and stereotypes, not to mention her mental health. Her lack of emotion and her ridiculous ability encase her life and keep her from being anything but emo and reserved. She just has to look like one of the reserved kids because it is the simplest solution. The monotonous cycle of her life goes on uneventfully, gripping her emotions tight and not allowing her to be anything but the reserved kid.

A little too dramatic. Oakley snapped out of her daze and realized she was dripping paint.

The breeze outside flowed in through the open window of Oakley's messy bedroom. She was painting on card stock, cross legged on her unmade bed. Surrounded by paints and brushes, but Oakley knew exactly where everything was and she was fully prepared to create today's masterpiece. As her left hand reached for a smaller brush, Oakley recalled the first years of her life - and some of the events that fueled her emotions to create a new painting. She drifted back into deep thought. 

One time in second grade, a boy named Sawyer shared his favorite crayon with her. She thought he was pretty cool for doing that. They would eat lunch together, but Oakley wouldn't talk to him. He would call her "Oak" and give her string cheese, which she would not eat. All her classmates shared the rumor that they were in love, which Oakley thought was ridiculous since they were in second grade and she never even talked to him. It was obvious the boy was just trying to be nice to the lonely kid with no friends, but that's expected. Oakley learned from a young age not to make connections with people, even if they try to make connections with her.

Her parents were so detached from her that they didn't even try to raise her. Countless nights in her childhood, she would turn the TV on and grab some popcorn and a blanket, but her parents wouldn't go for it. Apparently, it was a "waste of time".

She tried her hardest to stay detached from that boy Sawyer, and luckily it worked. She didn't have any friends after him, which she was fine with. Oakley would much rather be lonely than repeat the pain that is human interaction. Oakley probably appeared to be pretty odd to grow up without any friends, and that's why she was seen as 'reserved'. Just when the feeling of being alone gets comfortable, Oakley will meet someone and lose them immediately, even if nothing has happened yet.

The painting was about halfway finished, but it was missing some real emotion. Unwillingly, Oakley recalled the most tragic event in her timeline so far. 

At about age three, Oakley was outside playing with a rock (which was a pretty normal thing for her) when her dad passed by to go pick up a rake. December 9th, 2036. Was that someone speaking to her? God, maybe? Not that she believed in one but she was open to the idea that if God just spewed a date into her head, maybe He was real. She had no idea what the date meant but it gave off a dark and uncomfortable vibe, as if something bad were going to happen on that day. She scared herself so much that she went inside to get some rest, skipping dinner as usual. That morning, her mom set breakfast on the kitchen table and again - June 25th, 2087.

Since then, random dates would pass through her head when she looked at certain people, anyone who had any significance in her life. A twinge of pain and despair washed over her and it became so horrendous that she hated interaction with other people in fear that she would have to suffer from this uncontrollable power.