Spectrum Rebellion

ix.

ix.

Thomas led me down several complicated roads until we reached a wide street, full of people sitting here and there, laughing, having a good time. He then pointed further down the road, his arm quivering slightly with excitement. "Can you see it?" Squinting, I followed the direction of Thomas' finger. When my eyes locked on to what he was pointing at, a hand shot to my mouth as I gasped in shock. My bench! They had taken my bench! I looked round at Thomas, who was smirking. He looked so smug and proud of himself.

"I told them to move it here so the Arids wouldn't destroy it. We all agree when we say it looked too good to be turned into dust; it reminds me personally of Jackson Pollock." Thomas said, leaning against the wall behind him in his usual pose of crossed arms and slender torso at an angle, creasing his coral t-shirt in such a seemingly perfect fashion. He was surrounded by painted yellow stars, which made me think that he was a graffiti angel, the stars seemingly painted to fit around him. Even though the stars were sloppily painted and had dried with the paint dripping, they were beautiful. And Thomas made them even more so with his rather angelic, colourful presence.

"You bench thief." I said firmly, but I was smiling. "Can we sit on it?"

"We can stand on it if that is what you want! Now come on." Thomas stood up completely, peeling himself away from the painted stars, before walking in a brisk, energetic way towards my bench. He weaved his way through the Rebels that walked the street, meaning I had no choice but to follow. Once he managed to make his way to the bench, he shooed the couple who were previously sitting on the bench off of it and stood on it, his black plimsolls sticking out among the colour. There was a pink on the bench that almost matched his t-shirt, but there were no greens to match his unique hair.

"Listen up ladies and gentlemen, Rebels and other Rebels alike," He called out, addressing everybody nearby. It felt to me as if he were addressing them directly, and that they had no choice but to listen to the boy with the green hair. A crowd had gathered around the bench now, so I had to politely sneak my way to the front. (I wasn't quite ready for pushing past people determinedly, despite how that could be considered the norm among many Rebels). Thomas looked around at the crowd, smiling, "As you can see, I am stood on a bench. But this is no normal bench! No, this bench is not only very bench-like, but it is a symbol. This bench is a symbol of bravery, as it were, of stepping those first, difficult steps into the art of being a Spectrum Rebel. This bench is more than just being something to sit on. It is a piece of art, a piece of colour, and a piece of bravery proving to me that Josephine is more than just an Arid...step up, Josephine, and accept your fate as the Bench Painter of the Bench of Magenta Street! A mouthful, but certainly a title you are more than worthy of."

The crowd then started cheering, and I looked about, nervous. This is weird. Thomas kneeled down on the bench and looked directly at me...his eyes, oh his eyes! They flickered once again, and dared me. They dared me to stand up on the bench. They dared me to smile at the crowd. And they dared me to throw myself out of my comfort zone. A tight knot in my chest suddenly unravelled and I pushed through the last couple of people in front of me, before clambering atop the colourful bench of bravery. The Bench of Magenta Street. And I was the Bench Painter. I looked around at everyone and smiled as Thomas clapped loudly. The Bench Painter wasn't exactly a regal title, or something many Rebels would be proud of, but it was something big to me.

It was a start.

* * *

We, being Thomas and I, sat side by side on my bench, the cold nipping at our bare arms. It was rather dark now, and rather late, the moon shining in the sky. Stars twinkled above us, like sequins thrown across a dark velvet dress. As the blanket of inky sky loomed above us, I thought about the orange 'Carpe Noctem', and the painted yellow stars, which I now made me think about Thomas. I looked over at him, to see that he was just sitting down normally, slouched forward with his elbows resting on his knees. His shoulder blades poked through his t-shirt slightly, as did his spine. He looked quite brittle, what with his thin wrists and quite prominent cheek bones, but all the while he seemed incredibly strong. I figured he was just thin because of his genes or something to do with his parents. I wondered what his life had been like before becoming a Rebel, and what had made him choose this life; this life of reckless emotion and colour.

"I'm not going to talk about it." Thomas suddenly said. I snapped out of my reverie and realised that Thomas was now looking directly at me, his who torso turned to face me. The stars were reflected in his eyes, which looked quite dark in the night. A mixture of starlight and darkness swirled within the blue, which appeared quite stormy.

"About what?" I asked, slightly confused.

"My life before Rebellion." Thomas replied, sighing and straightening his back out, stretching, "I could tell that you were thinking about it. Wondering." He looked back over at me with a crooked smile. "I don't like to talk about it...let's say those years were my dark days."

"So you're happy now, right?" I queried, feeling rather concerned for Thomas. I knew what it was like to be controlled, manipulated, hurt and shut up. I wondered if I could relate with the boy with the green hair, whose crooked smile had flickered slightly. His blue eyes, however, weren't grinning. They just sparked dully, which was odd, because usually they glittered and flickered with the light, or with just the darkness, overhead. I had a rather twisting feeling in my gut, telling me that I had somehow struck a nerve without thinking.

"Of course I'm happy. I have no reason not to be." Thomas said. He didn't seem to be lying, but I could tell, just by his somewhat nervous demeanour, that he was hiding something. But I wasn't one to pry. I wasn't going to invade his privacy, specifically because I hardly knew him and I didn't want to damage the hopes of him helping me overcome the beginning of being a Rebel. "And you're happy now too, right?"

"I hope so." I replied, offering Thomas a small smile. It was a small gesture, one that I wanted to give people more often now that I felt I could, but even so I hoped that it left a mark on Thomas' heart. He had the right to be happy, and to slowly grow more happy as I did. And I wanted the boy with the green hair to be truly happy–after all, it would all start with a smile. And hopefully, hopefully, it would end with one, too.