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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Mainly for a contest but read if you want. This is a story I wrote years and years ago.

Submitted: July 21, 2016

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Submitted: July 21, 2016



I never really had a name. Different people called me different things. Annoying, weird, delusional, stupid, psycho, moron, and many other words that were meant to leave scars and draw tears. My name is Indigo and I am colour blind. That's why I chose this name. I'm obsessed with colours since I can't see them. I only ever see different shades of grey with black and white. I only briefly managed to see colour when I was younger, but as I got older it just drifted away one by one. First green, then red, then blue. Soon after I couldn't see any and everything around me was just grey. But that doesn't mean I don't remember them.


People dismiss me for seeing everything this way, but it's not my fault, I didn't choose to be this way. People around me take for granted that which they cast aside as being a normality when what I see in my mind is beautiful. I describe colours like a graceful messiah handing out miracles, awaiting the day I approach, blinded. And colour make me see. I describe colours as a family describe a living room fire. Fire is a colour, the colour red. But much more than that. Fire, to me, is red, yellow, orange, a multitude of colour to create something warm. And yet so volatile and dangerous, when placed in the wrong hands. I would be comparable to that of a caveman first discovering fire, I would take good care with it and treasure it, like a painter. I would take the time everyone else wastes away to appreciate each and every shade, every single form, I would treasure every single transition from one shade to another.


Colour is a cycle, a never ending wheel of life transforming into another and when you think the cycle is complete it just keeps going. Every shade compliments the other, so does that mean they are all one colour? Each shade, when given light or dark, becomes another form of itself, yet it is treated as a different entity. From red to orange to yellow to green to blue to purple and eventually to red again. So similar and yet so different. It reminds me of how people treat me. Are we all the same? Just seen as different by each other? It seems everyone has no problem treating me differently. We all have the same basic template and yet we all want to believe we are worlds apart. People who would be thought as only being as different as maroon and magenta think themselves being as further apart as cyan and scarlet. But they always forget that soon scarlet can become cyan, all it takes is a little more colour added on.


Indigo, my favourite colour. So dark yet still blue. It's a colour that people would first think is not worth being a great colour but it still contributes to the making of all kinds of colours. Even rainbows. I would love to see a rainbow. The mixture of colours, red, yellow, green, orange and even my colour, Indigo. To just sit down on the green grass, look up to the bright blue sky and see such a wondrous display of colours. Rainbows and fireworks. I love going outside on bonfire night. Just to see the fireworks soar into the night sky and imagine what kinds of colours  could be bursting from them and painting the black, starry canvas.


I met someone like me a while ago. Her name was Rose. Another colour like me, but a pretty pink-like shade of red. It fit her perfectly. I was stunned when I met her. She had a face that looked like it had been made from a rose flower, eyes that definitely had colour to them, even if I couldn't see it. But I thought to myself, a vibrant, light colour mixing with a dark, depressing, murky shade? Never. But then she noticed me, and I found out she was a lot like me. She was colour blind too. How was that possible? A beautiful flower like her, unable to see rainbows, or fireworks, grass, flowers or the sky? How could she possible live in the same world I did?


We became friends rather quickly and spent a lot of time together, eventually it was bonfire night again and I persuaded her to come with me. She was skeptical of the night since both of us could never see them but I made her come with me nonetheless. It was beautiful, the long trip was worth it. As we sat watching the night sky, we didn't see anything until we turned and saw each other. I could see the colour in her eyes. A beautiful bluish cyan colour. I was stunned at what was happening. Everything from her light brown hair to her slightly red lips became so vibrant and beautiful. She said she could see me too, a greenish jade colour emanating from my eyes. We both looked to the sky and could see nothing but colours. A grand cascade of radiant shades. Green, blue, yellow, red, pink, purple, every colour possible, all dancing gracefully before us. It was the greatest feeling in the world, and it was only better that I shared it with Rose. She couldn't take her eyes off the sky, but I couldn't stop looking at her. The fireworks kept bursting in the sky but I didn't want to see that just yet. I couldn't.


Without fear I reached for her hand and could see her cheeks filling with a blushed pink. She looked so pretty in colour but since I met her she was beautiful in any shade. Her eyes sparkled with an oceanic, soft blue that just forced me to smile. She smiled with me as we both knew that as long as we were together, we would see the world as we wanted it to be. We could run out to the beach and gaze on the grayish yellow sand as it swept into the sparkling cyan sea.

We could go out to a green grass field and watch a sunset fire a huge yellow ball into a sea of orange and red above a reflection of orange slowly fading into the warm blue sea. We could do anything and see anything as long as we were with each other.

I guess it only takes the affection of another person to reach out from the dark, and finally see beauty beyond comparison. My name is Indigo and I am colourblind, no more.

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