Colour Bandits

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sitting before was not a man, but merely a cracked shell.

Submitted: August 23, 2013

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Submitted: August 23, 2013

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Sitting before me was not a man, but merely a cracked shell. He sat, head bowed as if praying. His clothing was slathered in nothing but white pastel-like chalk. No colour, no life.

 

Though here I sat, teeth clenched in a tight manner. My hands occupied themselves by picking at my fingernails, picking at the layered dirt. My hands rested on the man before me, watching as he did nothing but drown in pity.

 

We were colour bandits, watching the world live in bright colours, flashing reds, greens, purples. Colour was overrated for us. We sat in a dark alley, waiting for the people to find us; throw the colour and life at our shrivvelling bodies.

 

Our clothes consisted of white pants, a white shirt, white gloves, and a white scarf. And shoes. That were white, too.

 

I lifted my head once again, blank eyes staring ahead as laughs were erupting from the side; coming closer. “Go.” He whispered. I swallowed, nodding and standing, rushing to the side to find a hiding spot. I slipped into the large crack, my thin frame feeling crushed. But I held my breath and shut my eyes. I heard shuffling, knowing he was also hiding.

 

The men passed by me, not suspecting anything. I slowly left the tight space, exhaling in a deep breath. I saw him come out too, dusting off his pastel jeans. “That was close.” He said, I gave a small nod. “Now sit, I was thinking.” He added, sitting on the box crate. I watched him resume his position. I sighed, going and sitting across from him. My hair was in a tight pony tail, the dark colour was faded as I had sprinkled white chalk on it, turning it more grey.

 

I swallowed and leaned against the wall, shutting my eyes and muting out the world.

 

Minutes passed. And soon hours. My mind broke from their thoughts as something smacked into my shoulder. I opened my eyes, them going wide as I saw red chalk being thrown at me.

 

I screamed, looking to my side and seeing him on the ground, covered in a rainbow of colours.

 

My eyes darted back up to see 3 men, each having a ball of dry paint in their hands. My life was over, I thought. We were no longer the colour bandits. 

 

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This, right here, was a short story. It took me less than 5 minutes to write, and I needed to get the idea out of my head. Thanks for reading.


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