Yellow

I poured water in the cup Ajal gave me, took the brush, looked at the colours and already asked myself what I'm trying to do here.

"What is wrong?", Ajal asked. Sunlight touched his face, a breeze messed his hair up. It look beautiful.

I could draw him instead. Or the crow behind him that sat there in the tree, not caring about human nature. Or I could draw this family with three children, with one looking like he doesn't fit with the rest. I could think about his life, his struggles, his story while painting his curly hair or his smile or-

"Peyton?", Ajal asked, worry sat in his voice. "Is everything okay?"

I took a deep breath. Or at least I tried.

"I don't know if I can draw Charlotte."

"Why not?"

I looked at my hands. Bitten nails. A small cut from opening the medicine box ages ago. Skin, that made me throw up. It looked disgusting, so disgusting yellow.

Why does everything has to be this damn yellow.

I looked up. The sun was yellow too, but it was a different kind. It was powerful and proud and loud and it flighted tooth and nail. It shined so bright above, I could just get a glimpse of it.

(It was the good kind)

I smiled. It reminded me of Josie, who was so bright, she let me shine too.

(At least for a while)

"I'm just-", I tried to say, still looking at the boy. He played with his younger brother, his mother called after him. My heart sank. Crazy what I all missed. What I could've had, if hadn't been that stupid, hadn't been that naive, hadn't been that weak.

But there are things you can't change. Mistakes, no matter how hard you try, that can never be undone.

"I'm just...too yellow."

Suprise hit Ajal's face, although he tried to hide it. His bushy eyebrows moved down. "You're...too yellow?"

My head felt like turning yellow too, even if it was more likely red.

"Everything is too yellow!"

I didn't wanted to scream, especially at Ajal. But I couldn't hold it back anymore. My mind couldn't process how he couldn't see it too.

My hair. My skin. My dress (even if I couldn't remember wearing it).

My tears. My veins. My fingertips. They all turned yellow.

They were all yellow.

And that was the problem.

"What is wrong with yellow?", Ajal asked like a tiger, cautious. He didn't wanted to upset me, what I admired, but sometimes I wish we could just talk with each other without him touching me with velvet gloves like I'm a fragile porcelain doll.

I took a deep breath. Or at least I tried.

"Everything is wrong with yellow", I whispered, like it was a secret that I banned to the deeps of my heart. Wich is silly, because it's common knowledge.

I looked at the family and I think I hated them. They seemed so happy with the laughing children. They seemed so loving with the mother that bought snacks for each of them. They seemed like a family full of dinners together, full of "come home safe, sweetie", full of a mother who told her children stories before bed.

They seemed like the reason I hated yellow.

"Yellow is the colour of the worst mistake of my life", I tried to clarify. I bit my nail. "It's the colour of my suicide."

Ajal didn't said a word nor did I. The wind whispered things in my ear, things I maybe shouldn't hear. Or maybe I have to. Maybe it's the eternal punishment I have to endure for the sin I committed.

It were screams. Screams of death, pleading to don't die, crying, the last energy before life is stripped out of your body. It were my screams.

The sun shined, but it couldn't warm me anymore. I wish it could. It was so cold, whereever I am.

"I'm sorry I didn't-"

"It's okay, Ajal."

My smile was slightly cranked. I took a deep breath. Or at least I tried.

I looked at the family and remembered, that I didn't hated them. I hate my own parents. For all they did. And for all they didn't.

I looked at the grass and the tree the crow sat on. It already flew away, even if I don't know when.

I hope it's somewhere good.

(and not where I am)

Where the crow sat were now two pigeons and I liked to picture them as a couple. That they loved each other other, that somewhere were little baby pigeons, that they cared for. But maybe I'm projecting a life onto them that I never had the chance to live.

The younger boy from the family played in the grass, it looked like dancing without music. I hope he will grow up. I hope he will grow old. I hope he will be happy.

(all things I couldn't achieve).

I looked down at my hand that was still slightly yellow. Unknowingly I picked up grass. My eyes focused on it. It was so soft, I could feel it.

A smile sneaked on my face.

"I think I can draw Charlotte now. "

Charlotte was a seventeen year old girl, who was nearly eighteen. She had shining blue eyes and always wore baby blue dresses and she hated her yellow one. Charlotte loved to laugh, even if she stopped doing it as she turned older. She loved crocheting and running through the forrest and her best friend Josie Floyd.

(And she loved a boy called Anthony, that left her alone).

And she killed herself, 1969.

And Charlotte left a ghost, that renamed herself Peyton.

Ajal laughed. "What changed your mind?"

I took the brush and plumbed it into the water.

"I don't have to draw myself like I really looked like, right?"

I don't have to draw myself yellow.

(I don't have to draw myself dead)

My hand seemed to work for itself. It seemed as if it hadn't forget me like I did.

"So I'll just paint myself green."

(So I'll just paint myself alive.)