Color

nine

Everything before me changes. Like the flip of a switch. I cannot explain it. It's extraordinary. Nothing like I've ever experienced. The trees around me, the beautiful flowers. I can finally see the pink in the pink peonies. This is pink? Somehow I just know it. In my mind it clicks. Maybe it's not.

I realized I've been wrong. The color of grey they were before lead me to believe they were pink. They were a light shade of yellow.

I'm not sure how I can now name off these colors, but I'm sure it's the wiring in my brain.

The pressure of my hand on my shoulder becomes limp. It doesn't hurt as much anymore.

The pain decreases to nothing. I don't feel it. And now I'm not focused on the flowers. I'm an aquatinted to the beautiful man before me.

With the pain close to gone, we both soundlessly agree to stand. My own feet on the soil of this planet seems too unimportant at the moment.

"Willow." I stutter. I'm not sure if I should shake his hand, or not.

His face is red, eyes wild.

Arms are lip at his sides. I'm too embarrassed to try.

Green eyes. They're all I see. A deep, forest shade has me drawn in and I know the transformation my father talked about briefly only some years ago is going into affect.

Adoration.

He seemed to be already harnessing it. His eyes scan me, darting from every mile to every wrinkle in my skin.

Not a wrinkle on his. It's all impeccable. Soft, porcelain skin, that has a tan in all the right places.

Quiffed, long curly hair. A deep bark color. It reminds me of chocolate.

He's wearing an army green jacket similar to one I also own. I'm astounded in the difference.

Freckles dot my cheeks, while his lay perfect. Not one flaw on his sharp jawline can and straight cheekbones. A flawless human being.

I gasp again, I see light from under his shirt. Rib cage. It's so bright it peeks from beneath his heavy jacket.

His hands are massive. Beautiful. Manicured, or up kept nails.

No man should be this beautiful.

Suddenly I feel something in my arm. Too quick to act on, and I kick whose behind me. But it's weak. I have no time to assess the situation as I drop, once again, to my knees, eventually feeling the cool grass beneath me as I black out.