Thread:ThoseWhoWanderAreNotLost/@comment-37225849-20190108221625/@comment-37225849-20190109024905

Actually here's the story: PROLOGUE I glance towards the clock. It’s 4:40 am, I’m sitting on a barstool in my kitchen, cramming spoonfuls of ice cream into my mouth. Sulking. No better word. Here I am, questioning my own existence.

But what does it matter? I should probably be doing the homework I decided not to do last night. Instead, I savor this moment, by myself. Because when I’m by myself, that’s the only time I can be myself. The only time the colors springing off the pages of stories and books truly matter. The only time that I can quiet the rainbow of colors dying to be heard in my head. The only time I don’t need to be trying to figure out what’s wrong.

Minutes pass. I sit there, silent as a mouse. Are mice truly even quiet? The questions I ask this world go unanswered often. Why do I see the world through different lenses? How come I can’t fit in at school? As I seek the knowledge of the world, I come to terms with reality, as each question sits still, with no solution.

I realize that it has quickly become 6:00 am. I have to go to school. No reason to hesitate, except for the fact that I get tossed around like a paper airplane everytime I approach class. Except for the fact that no one cares. And no one knows. Or will ever know that I am….

CHAPTER ONE The school bell buzzes through my head, along with its dreadful gray streaks. I scurry into the storm of middle schoolers, rushing to get to class, in order to not be faced with a dreaded tardy. The footsteps of classmates creates a vibrant red in my head. I forgot my earbuds at home today, so I am bombarded with color.

I arrive early to English, as I do with all my other classes. The letters on the board boast their beautiful rainbow, and the beautiful colors fill my head. I hear the pastel blue tip-tap of Ms. Morris’ heels. Her hair, twisted into a top knot, sits neatly on her head. Not at all like her regular, messily put together self. I wonder what’s going on.

“Now, now, settle down. We have a day of reading ahead of us!” Ms. Morris sounds assured that it will be delightful. I sigh. I will have to bear through another headache, most likely.

I close my eyes. I’m already failing this class. No point in trying. Everyone thinks I’m slow, some even believe me to be a delinquent. I let the colors of the schools system fill my head. The lavender swirls, the pale pink dots, they create harmonies in my head.

I decide today I’ll try. I open the cover. Breathing in, I turn to page 143 in “A Mango-Shaped Space”. Reading books about people who have the same struggles as me helps a lot. I feel safe, and comforted. Sometimes I get so swept up in a story, that my colors help me read instead of fighting against it.

I just can't flow today. My colors keep trying to stop me. I used to fight back. I just want them to go away. I can’t take them anymore. They push me away from friends, away from teachers, away from school. Even my family seems to question my sanity.

No one knows about my colors. No one. I have no one to tell, anyways. My teachers would send me to a psychologist. My parents would think I’m lying. I have no friends, so at least I’m not lying to any students. But I feel lost most times, and it’s not a good feeling.

I close my book. A wave of bright, striking orange hits me.

And I remember.

I close the book. I close my eyes. I know what happens next. The wonderful orange cloud entrances me. I swim around my thoughts. I wonder how other people feel when they see their colors. I go off to ask my mom, feeling as though I’m on an adventure with Twinkles, my corgi’s rosy footsteps.

“Mammy?” I ask.

“Yes dear?” My mother’s beautiful periwinkle voice fills the air.

“What are your favorite sound colors?”

My mother stares at me, confused. She looks at me as if, even at my age of only seven, I must know more than her. She looks genuinely intrigued.

“You know, the swirls and clouds. The periwinkle and violet that fill the air when you sing, or the red of footsteps.” I sit there, unaware of how no one else can see my colors.

“Honey, are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine, Mammy”

My mother rushes off, and begins typing on her keyboard.

Tap, tap, tap.

Yellow dot, yellow dot, yellow dot.

I wander off, finally realising I am different. No one else understands. And I vow that no one ever will.

I shake off the memory. My thoughts drift off.

I feel cold fingers on my shoulder, and I hear a cough behind me. I see a strike of evergreen fill the air. I twist my head around, only to be underwhelmed by Adam’s face.

“What is it?” I ask him. I guess he qualifies as my only ‘friend’, despite my lack of attachment to people in fear of my secret.

“You know you’re going to be late for PE, right?” His face into amusement, knowing I’m a freak when it comes to punctuality.

I shriek.

OH MY LORD. I have never been late to class before. I run down the hall, when suddenly I hear, “She’s the one”.

I glare towards a group of jocks, hanging around, pointing at me. I can feel my freckled face blush. I push my straight brown hair back and give them my signature “death stare”.

They look away. A warm feeling of accomplishment floods me with relief. And then I come to my senses and soar to class.

Gasping, I clench the doorway to the gym in fear of a tardy. And then the ‘start of class’ bell rings, greeting me with a joyful purple instead of the gray streaks of the ‘end of class’ bell. I scurry into the girls locker room, my emerald eyes searching the room.

I stare in confusion, looking at the group of girls huddled on the opposite side of the room to my locker. Then I see.

Adrianna James wrote “FREEEEEEEEEEK” in red lipgloss on my locker.

And I know why.

CHAPTER TWO I run into a bathroom stall, sobbing. How could this happen to me? I have never told anyone about my colors! Not once! And it’s not like I like them!

Exasperated and filled with a sinking feeling filling my stomach, I run out and do the unthinkable. I punch Adrianna straight across the cheek. I leave the locker room, satisfied with the large red mark I’ve left on her left cheek. My knuckles are pink with her blush. I laugh.

And then I realize the magnitude of what I’ve done.

I sit in the principal’s office, dissatisfied with my first visit to his office. I expected glitz. Glamor. And this is what I get?

Mr. Angus, the vice principal, walks into his office.

“Well, well, what do we got here?” His thick southern accent evokes strange salmon circles in the air. “You punched another student?”

He looks down at my record. I glare.

“You do realize this is now in your permanent record, right?”

I glare more.

“Answer me now.” His voice, grower sterner every second, seems to falter as he glances at the record again.

“Juniper Parks. You have a reputation for not making the smartest choices, don’t you?” He seems to tease me. His voice flutters.

My eyes grow colder.

“Adrianna James. She’s a problem. I would deal with her before dealing with me.” My response, seemingly witty in my head, comes out sounding like something a stuck-up piece of crap like Adrianna and her posse would say.

“We will consider your punishment in due time. For now, know you are on my watch list.” I look away from Mr. Angus’ face.

I stand up. We shake hands. I storm out.

CHAPTER THREE

As soon as I get home, my mother calls me over.

We may have been close when I was young. But we sure aren’t anymore.

Her voice fills the air, still periwinkle and bright.

“What did you do this time?” Her questioning makes me turn red. I don’t want to answer, and I don’t feel the need to. I walk straight past her and into my room.

“Juniper!” She yells from the kitchen, turning her voice into a darker midnight blue.

“WHAT?” I scream, slamming my bedroom door behind me.

Not bothering to listen to her reply, I jam my earbuds into my ears and turn my Billy Joel playlist on. The colors that appear with each note soothe me. For once I feel calm. No worries. I hope.

I take this time to be carefree. At school I have problems. At home I have problems. But here, I’m free.

I close my eyes and let the colors encompass my mind. I drift off. I fly through my thoughts, spreading my wings and observing each color and shape. Why sound has color to me, I don’t know. Neither do I know why letters have personality and meaning. Someday I hope I will find out. For now, I only enjoy it when I get to choose what I listen to. When my mind is blank.

At school, my brain gets crowded with color, and I try to focus on schoolwork, but I can’t. Choir is my safe place, where the advanced singing voices of me and my peers work together to create the best artwork in my head. Not at all like english, where the words create a tangled mess in my head and give me a headache.

I stare up at the stars through my window. I wonder what it’s like to be a star. To float through space with nothing to do, nowhere to be. It must be great.

I become a star too, drifting off to sleep.

I wake up with a heavy crash. I rub my eyes and look around. The bright flash of dawn shines through my window. Mornings are so angelic. I don’t understand why people hate them so much. I get up, off the floor.

My head hurts from crying silent tears. My throat hurts from keeping the screaming hate trying to get up my throat inside.

If I’m going to clear my head, I better take a nice walk towards the park.

It’s a Saturday. A day of peace and quiet. A day for resting. I put my Doc Martens on and a beanie, and I walk straight out into the open world, phone in my pocket, and heart ready to soar.

I beam as I notice how bright the sun is glowing above me. What a beautiful sight, at least for someone in need of healing like me. I take a deep breath, adoring the smell of the fresh pinewood trees decorating the streets around me.

I should’ve taken Twinkles I think, imagining her tiny, rosy paw prints. She is getting a little old, though.

My family’s been getting through a lot. Since my dad died when I was 8, my mom has been constantly been getting more and more depressed. She’s threatened me with suicide multiple times, blaming my unruly behavior for her deep, convulsing sadness. If I only I had treated her better yesterday….

I take in the light pastel colors that decorate the clean morning air. This is something I can tolerate, something I’ve learned to love. Not at all like school, at least.

That's all I have rn.