I think Fear would be a man. They would appear differently to different people but I think Fear would be a man, if it one day appeared to me. I think it would be an old, bearded man with too wide eyes and a white cloak like the man in the book I read about in Secondary School. The moment I saw him my breath would catch in my throat and I'd fall to the floor because he's had a hold of me for so many years, you'd think I'd be used to it but somehow... Not quite.

I also think Fear would be faceless. Because it's taken so much from so many, who could ever give it a face. Fear and its only kryptonite, Courage. It exists to teach us how to meet his counterpart but many don't and who can blame us? Sometimes, in the process of desperately struggling to just survive, we lose the ability to simply live.

I think Love would be a woman. A pretty black woman who is the size of a building, with wide hips and giant hair in the biggest afro known to man. It would sit on her head like the sun and her smile would make the littlest thing swoon. Her body would be soft and round all over, a tummy swelled with love and chocolate, hips adorned in gold and silver and rose petals, the familiarity of an old friend that will never quite leave the memory.

I think Happiness is a child. Because who else would one imagine? To me, one stops being a child the moment the weight on the world begins to be felt. The moment the demands of society and the need to conform grow. And if that is a child, many of us became adults much too young. Much too young. Happiness is a child with flowers in her hair and freckles on her cheeks, running and whopping and shouting and never stopping, no matter how silly they look. He has pretty fair hair and glowing eyes that never, ever lose their sparkle. If only they could stay a while longer. He is the colour of yellows and whites and pinks, the colour of teddy bears and sleepovers and wide smiles a person tries to but can't hide, the colour of the sun itself. Never a dull day with that one, fills you up to the very depths.

But so does Sadness. So do Empty and Numb, the brothers two, spreading tales of woe. To be empty, to be numb, is to be dead in a living body. At least, that's what it feels like. They are there for a reason, of course. When life is not being lived enough, they slide right over, to remind us we must feel it. To remind us this is existence and to exist is to simply be, sometimes, no matter how quiet or still or painful. They are always silent. For some, they are old friends, for some, they are strangers, but we all know them don't we?

Anger then is the colour red, by popular demand. All hot and burning and consuming. I'd rather think of Anger as black. Like tar. Dripping, scorching tar. That's how it appears to me. Slinks in, he, holding out his hand for me to finally give in for once. Because I don't experience her as much as it would like me to. I choose to suck it in and the darkness pollutes my heart, burns me in an all-consuming fire and I pretend all is well. So our friendship goes, ever pretending we do not know each other.

Colours are fun. I started wondering about them when I read a book where everyone was assigned their colour by the narrator. I wonder which one I would be. I'd love to be a pretty pink or a pure white. An earthy rich brown, a peaceful light blue, a warm orange a yellow. I'd like to be elegant like purple or bright and passioned like a trail of reds. Today I am grey. And that's alright, too. I greet Empty and Numb like old friends. They whisper "live" and I whisper "no, not right now, loves, I can hardly move today" and we repeat our old routine that we all know by heart.

Maybe I'll dance with the yellow of Happiness some day. Joy is such a bright, pretty colour, isn't he? Maybe I'll tango in the depths of fire and brimstone with my red Anger, blinding my eyes as we try and fail to avoid the heat. Maybe I'll dance fluidly, smoothly with Calm. They are peace. They are wisps of smoke from an old, small, sage green teapot and the silent rustle of air through the trees. Colourless, most times. They remind you of the brothers two but much kinder, much more comforting.

Perhaps I'll be unlucky. Perhaps Fear and I, or Anxiety, as I call him, will speak once again. I try to keep my distance but there's not much you can do when all you've ever known from the very start of life as you know it is to be in unease, discomfort, waiting, treading lightly on a tightrope of your own design as your inevitable demise inches closer and closer with no warning.

I like this shade of blue, though. I think every human has a rainbow inside them. We are all capable of every single colour, it just depends on what each colour means to you and how well you can tell. I am currently a shade of blue. This particular hue is commonly given to Sadness, although mine is too grey to be called any other colour most times. Today, my Sadness is blue, for once. A light blue, a sad blue, a tired blue. It's warm and comforting in its dull familiarity. It asked me to write this and I did as told, hoping it would make sense, hoping it would help, hoping I could understand myself for even a moment, even at all.

My Sadness is blue and so am I. My inner child is blue too, but not the colour. Blue in the way it feels sick to the stomach, nauseous and unable to breathe. Their face is blue from holding back screaming. If you keep holding yourself back from feeling all the reds, blacks and greys, all the creeping dark shades in the room, you will always end up throwing it all up or suffocate it till something in you dies, if you'd like. Because something must die if you're held under too long, don't you agree? I let her die. She loves me but I couldn't save her, and every time I kill her again, she shows again the next time with a smile on her face and forgiveness in her eyes. Too kind. Much too kind. In a world that never deserved her kindness.

My inner child and every other part of who or what I am is a rainbow trapped in chains. That is my colour, that is why I can't tell you for sure which I am most times. I tell them it's too much colour and add yet another shackle to myself. For the good of the world, I tell myself. I'm only trying to protect you, I tell myself. The old man rears his ugly head and smiles at me. Fear is a smoke with no flame that I have followed a long time. I met them as a child and eagerly let them in. Because I was promised safety. They broke that promise. But they have grown too familiar to leave and that is where the colours will forever stay. Trapped, as I am. I gain nothing and lose nothing, just hang treacherously in the balance.

Perhaps if I was a different hue this fateful day, I'd have written a prettier tune. But this mess is a part of me and I a part of it. And with that, I wish you a good day, one full of rainbows and rainbows alone.

The electric guitar screeched throughout the stadium. Lights flashed as the drummer slowly began to play, teasing the crowd. Slowly, the drummer increased the speed with which he was playing. Two spotlights erupted from the stage, quickly diverging and bathing the entire stadium in a brilliant white light. Smoke erupted from the stage along with it. The guitarist jumped out from behind something, and fire blasted from the stage as he began playing his riff.

In a crescendo of awesomeness, I emerged from the elevator in the center of the stage and looked up, eye-liner laid on thick. My cape flowed through the wind. Spotlights pointed on me in my full glory: parachute pants, a cape, and a mesh tank-top.

I looked up and began singing a song so awesome it cannot be repeated. So great, it makes every lyricist look like an amateur. So amazing cool-tastic, that it can never be written down again.

JK

The music stopped.

“It’s poetic,” the music started again.

“The nature of my contest is hectic

But I was elected

No one else selected

Number one game show host, no better contestants

You’d think you’d learn your lesson

That only I can be the bestest

But still you come for my throne

I created Pen to the Paper

And ten minutes later

Everyone was thinking no challenge was greater

Nothing else was like it, it was a game changer

No one else was actively putting themselves in danger

But still you think you can come for my home

Been two years of Pen to the Paper, now this season is coming to a close

Don’t you riot, and don’t you be opposed

’Cause Pen to the Paper will be coming back with a vengeance, bros

Got another season in the makin’

With all your favorite peeps, bacon

We’re talkin’ Nick, Willow, and most importantly

The greatest and hottest host in history

The amazing and infallible me

So strap on in

The show's about to begin

Let’s end this season with a banger

This second season of Pen to the Paper!”

I climbed on top of a thirty foot ladder and jumped. I screamed when I realized that parachute pants do not act like a parachute when you fall.

A life was taken during my commute yesterday,

I did not think about those left behind,

my mind was on how I would make it to work on time,

what alternate route I should take,

whether or not to reset my alarm for an earlier time in order to avoid unforeseen delays in the future.

Today, I imagine that the dead is being mourned by those that were left behind,

perhaps a little girls cries for the one that will never return,

there may be a boy that will have to learn to be a different man than he may have been,

a wife may caress the empty pillow beside her tonight,

a parent weeps.

The individual that took the life may be on a train, bus or plane to another state,

that, or he may have gone to school,

just another day,

it could have been the first kill or business as usual.

Did he go home and hug his kid, kiss his wife, walk his dog, take the money from the cadaver to buy groceries?

He walked into the crowded common room, the bubbling conversation seeming far to loud. He really just wanted to go to his room, but that wasn’t going to happen yet.

“Hey does anyone know what time is it?” He called out from his spot near the door. His phone had died a while ago, he had no watch, and for some reason the building was extremely lacking in clocks.

“SHOW TIME!!!” A group of theater kids shouted from the other end of the room, continuing with their awful cover of some Hamilton song.

“Uh…” he stood there, a little dumbfounded. Was that a coincidence or was that their answer to his question?

After standing there for a moment more, and not receiving any other answers he asked again. “Hey, what time is it?” He called out slightly louder this time.

“Tea time!” A small boy shouts from next to him, running off towards a low table with a tray of teacups in his hands.

Again he stood there, confused. Was that the answer to his question or was the world just messing with him?

“Does anyone know what time it is?” He called out again, a little exasperated now.

“Ain’t nobody got time for that!” A girl shouted as she and her friend marched past him into the room.

“What…?” He stood there, still not knowing the time. “Can someone please tell me what time it is?”

“It’s nap time.” A boy yawned as he walked by him and up the stairs, stretching his arms over his head.

He stood there, more dumbfounded and exasperated than before. He just wanted to know the time…

“Hey! What time is it?!” He called out again, louder.

“It’s too early for that.” A girl said, walking by him. She was yawning and looked exhausted.

“What?!” He whipped around, staring at her as she walked out of the common room and down the hall.

“It’s too late for that!” The same girl, less tired looking, jogged past him. Quickly going out of the door and down the hall as well.

The world was messing with him. That had to be it. But now he was in too deep, he needed to know the time.

“What time is it!?” He asked again, looking around desperately.

“Time for you to get a watch.” An older boy said walking by him, staring down at his phone.

“But…” he stood there, truly dumbfounded. That had to be an answer to his question, it just had to be. Was everyone here just messing with him??

He stood there, silent and confused, as people walked around him and continued to chatter.

“I JUST WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE DAMN TIME IS!” He shouted desperately.

The entire room fell silent, and the head-boy of the school's common room looked at him for a moment before answering.

“It’s time for you to calm down.”

He walked through a parking lot surrounded by darkness. He had no memories, only the moment he lived in right here, right now. The yellow lines marking parking spaces were the only thing causing any kind of illumination. But what was the point of parking here, when there was nothing out here at all!

"Looking for something? Some kind of plan, perhaps?"

"Plan?" The gentleman called out in bewilderment. "Yeah, I just want to know what's going on here! I don't know where I am, I don't even know who I am! My only company in this parking lot of nothing is you, a cryptic voice! So yeah, what kind of plan is unfolding here?"

"Well I hate to disappoint, but there is no plan."

"No plan? That's crazy! Everything has a plan! There has to be a purpose to everything, even this creepy place!"

"Not when Pen To The Paper is involved. Anything can go in this story. However, time is up for today."

A yellow door popped out of the concrete of the parking lot, directly in front of the gentleman. The mysterious voice continued to call out to him from beyond the door.

"Go through this door, and a new adventure will begin once the new season of Pen To The Paper begins. Things will then continue to unfold without a plan. You may leave the readers with one piece of information though. You may not know anything about yourself, but without a plan you can get as creative as you wish. So friend, tell me.... no, not just me, tell us all your name!"

"Very well." The gentleman said as he opened the door and exited the dark parking lot of nothing. "Call me..... -"

To be continued....