The colour of the sweater that I was wearing,
My hair that never failed to frustrate me,
The cup of coffee that I last had,
The night sky and the alleyway I was walking along,
All three had one thing in common,
something I was extremely fond of…
I stopped loving it when blackness clouded my vision.
The bold headlines that announced my pitiful end, and
whatever remained of my charred body, destroyed my love for it.
Black used to be my favorite colour,
until it was all I could see…
Now, I hate it with a vengeance,
the traitor that coloured the souls of my molesters.
We live in a world that makes us feel extremely grateful if we manage to make it back to our homes, safe and sound, especially if we have been out on the streets, alone during late evenings/nights. The above piece was purely fictional, but then again, it’s not too far from reality.
This post was written in response to the The Wacky Week Challenge #3: Black. The challenge is to tell a story based on the given word prompt in 200 words or less.
Huge thanks to Nidheesh over at The Dark Netizen for hosting this challenge. Please visit the link to know more about this challenge.
© 2018 Shweta Suresh. All rights reserved.
Image courtesy: Pixabay