My favourite colour is autumn’s fallen leaves during summer. My favourite colour is neglect, hatred, isolation. It is the darkness of a night spent outside, the abyss above that serves as my scenery, my entertainment, my decorations. My favourite colour is the temper of my father on a bad night, the impact of leather against bare flesh, the sting of tears on my face and welts on my skin. The sting of those words, the insults that keep me from being whole. My favourite colour is the vacancy in my heart I feel when I look at those who love me. The empty detachment from existence that I accept with the calm that precedes a storm. Chaos reaching its boiling point in an opaque container. The invisible suffering of a pipe about to burst, the shattering of light, hope, my dreams on a moonless night. My favourite colour is the look in my mother’s eyes as I tell her of my true self, tradition stifling truth, culture killing choice. My favourite colour is oppression. The stifling suppression of a decided demarcated despair. My favourite colour is not being able to be who I am simply because of the words of a bureaucrat. A puppet unaware of my story, my suffering. An oppressor entirely unaware of my pain, uncaring, unthinking. My favourite colour is the feeling I have as I finally let go. My favourite colour is release.
“Yeah, we talk too… and neither of us call eachother weird stuff like ‘daddy’. I don’t know what the heck this stuff means, but I know Jade’s not your daddy.”
“First of all... you weren’t supposed to hear that. Second of all, my relationship with Jade is a little different than ours. It’s... special.”
>Your name is OCARDI and you lay down on the concrete. A foot pressed firmly against your head, rolling your skull back and forth, gravel digging into your flesh. Your eyes were swollen, aching. They had found you.
>Just one, though. The young indigo- you had watched him grow up from a grub before your very eyes- he cackled above you, snapping his fingers. A pyro. Small flames flickered against your skin, and you whimpered with every burn that seared your flesh.
“Why did you run? Where did you think you’d go that you’d get away from this? From US?”
>He leaned forward and put more pressure. You felt like a grape between two massive fingers, and you threatened to pop any second. Pain thrashed through your body and you squirmed and screamed. The parking lot was empty, with the streetlights illuminating shining puddles of blood around the scene. Tears streamed from your eyes.
“Ocardi, we could’ve given you ANYTHING! We could’ve given you the world on a silver platter and you would’ve loved it!”
>You cringed and shook your head, his foot lightening against your temple. You felt dizzy. You wanted to give up. The fighting had lasted what seemed like ages. Only 10 minutes had passed.
“You should just give up, Ocardi. Give up. Come home. Come back to us.”
>Your eyes fluttered shut as he echoed your exact thoughts. You were so tired.
>Suddenly a picture flashed before your eyes. You remembered your music store, before it burnt down. The smile of your dead moirail illuminated the doorway as they stood there, waving at you. Rin sat on the counter. You played your guitar. Your friends sat around as you strummed, the room dark. The spotlight was on you. You stared lovingly down at your guitar, your calloused fingers plucking each string lovingly. You were playing for them, and they sat and clapped with the beat, singing along to whatever lyrics flew from between your lips. This was your dream, theife you had craved and wanted to dearly. Not whoring yourself out, living in some old hive, drunk and isolated and bruised. Rin’s hands touched your arm softly as she sang with you- an angel, a fucking angel. You turned at look at her. Suddenly your fingers made no movements. Your throat made no noise. The room was empty. You looked up, jarred and shocked. There wasn’t anything except a thick black smoke. You were alone.
>Flames licked through your dream, as Schoke laughed, singeing off your dreads, so short now they licked your neck. Your fantasy went up in flames.
>He wanted you to go home?… To give you the world on a silver platter…? That world was dark. And it hurt. God, it hurt.
>You were sick of the pain.
>Speaking through gritted teeth you suddenly turned your body, rolling, grabbing his ankle in your thick hands and crushing his entire foot in an instant without hesitation. He screamed, falling with wide eye, smacking his head on the pavement.
“That’s not the world, Schoke. That’s not the world I want.”
>And suddenly you were a beast, on top of him, punching. You punched and punched and punched, screaming at the top of your lungs as your knuckles cracked against bone.
>The next thing you knew you sat on top of a corpse. You panted before leaning over and heaving, throwing up, as if expelling all that fear and hatred from you because you just couldn’t handle it anymore.
>You slowly stood, shaking the ash from you as you trembled. You walked towards the city. You were going to forge that world you wanted.
Garnet: Do you have any people in your life you couldn’t live without?
o yea thats mostly my mom but p much everyone on my squad page gets a mention especially leah, u, and stephan
Rose: What’s most important in your life?
finding happiness. i feel like everything im doing now is going to play a part in building my happiness two or so years from now but tbh im tired of waiting. :/
Lars: Are you afraid of what people think of you?
i’m not afraid, son, i’m disappointed. i’m just kidding but tbh i get tired if i dwell too long on how ppl see me bc a lot of the time people don’t see me as i see myself and it’s tiring.
Onion: Have you ever committed a crime?
me and leah were just discussing the other night my stupid shoplifting exploits… nothing TOO recent but ya……….
