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The Colour
Of Fire
going, but I wasn’t scared; it was just like painting a picture. Often
you start off with one idea, not knowing where you’re going. So you
paint, sketch, draw, until you see your idea as it is in your mind.
Bottle Green, the colour of the trees. I held on to their branches
feeling the tips of the leaves brush past my fingers, cold and damp
from the night air. I wanted to paint, I wanted to show the texture
of the leaves and their vibrant colour. The feeling of the dewy air as
I breathed it in through my dense lungs. But to do that, I had to go
home, something I knew I would have to face eventually.
Pure Black, the colour of smoke. As I walked slowly back to my
house I began to smell smoke. My heart was racing in my chest as my
sore feet pounded the pavement. It became increasingly difficult to
take a deep breath but I begged my lungs to keep going as I ran
towards the burning house. My burning house. The fire was blazing
and I felt as if my skin was sizzling. I only saw a few glimpses of my
house before everything went as black as the smoke.
Cyan blue, the colour of confusion, the colour of my thoughts.
Both of my parents died that night. They say it was because of the
stove top, the cobalt blue stove top, which I had left on. It was my
fault. I thought that what my parents had to say that night was bad,
but I don’t think it could have been worse than this feeling of
separation, this want for closure that sits in my chest.
In art you can create any colour, any shade. I used to see the world
in all its colours and paint it as I saw it. Now it seems that just like
the smoke, everything around me is turning black. Like a duckling,
following its mother, I’m following my parents into their world of
darkness. There is one speck of light though, one bright star left in
my skies. I’m moving away. I’ll never have to return to this place,
never have to face another day at that school, never have to see the
burnt shell sitting vacant in our street. My life has become a blank
canvas, a new beginning ready to be filled, ready to start again. My
life has never been that simple, but now I can’t wait to fill my canvas
with the vibrant colours that I see in my future.
‘
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