A Lack of Colour

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 19 (v.1)

Submitted: January 24, 2009

Reads: 128

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Submitted: January 24, 2009



Ollie made it home just before half ten, he bought some rizlas at the shop on his way. He went into the kitchen and considered making some dinner, and opted against it for now taking a long drink of water instead. He headed back for his living room and sat in the chair he was most fond of. He relaxed every muscle. His brain ached from the meeting with Joanne. Life never was simple was it?

Ollie depended on his friends, essentially thats all he had. He had alienated his family long ago, the decision was drugs or them and at the time it seemed like the better option. He would always get a christmas card from his Mother and Sisters, his father never signed his name, for whatever reason. Ollie liked to image he was dead, but he doubted it. The eldest of the sisters, Jenna, visited him quite often. But over the years these visits became less and less frequent. In his mind Ollie envisioned himself as a seven year old boy again.

Jenna would be three, walking around in the manner babies do, using very sudden and random words \"Mum! Daddy! Owivur\" as she called him then. his youngest sister, Erin, would only be one. Sitting in her high chair with the constant look of shock on her chubby face. Ollie himself would be in the garden, burying his toys or whatever reason he did that for. His mother, a red haired woman with a freckled round face, a bit like a pancake, would call him in and wash his face smiling at him.
She would give him some toast and sit him on the wooden chair in the kitchen next to his sister and he would make her laugh as their mother prepared her mushy baby meal. Then, later on, his father would come in and pick him up and give him a new toy before getting him ready to bed.

How easy it was to be happy back then, romance was a television subject and love branched no further than the family and the only drugs one could get their fingers on were those your parents gave you when you were ill. Ollie missed those days. He missed a lot of happy moments in his life, Joanne included.
There was an emptiness about him these days, a void that was unable to be filled in a healthy manner. Kate helped, he knew she was unhappy. He could see through her well established cellophane shield. She was as, if not more, empty inside than he was. And he had made it his private mission to help anyway he could.

He picked up the skins and placed his marijuana in, rolling himself a thick joint. He ignited it and breathed in the first breath of grassy smoke. His depressive state of mind was replaced with total relaxation, the void inside him contacted and relaxed like a third pupil in his soul responding to some unseen light. Very steadily the prospect for some dinner became more and more attractive.

He went into the kitchen and struggled to find anything particularly nice to eat. Recalling his vision he took two slices of bread and placed them in his toaster. He ate an apple in the three minute countdown to the sudden jump of the nicely toasted bread. He scrapped some butter across the toast and put them on a plate, he took them back into the living room, still drawing at his joint.
He finished his meal and drifted away again, into a state of relaxation he had never felt without use of one intoxicant or the other. He steadied himself long enough to turn on the television, he switched over onto one of the shopping channels and laughed hysterically at things that would otherwise be too boring to stand most other moments. At least, he thought, he was genuinely happy.

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