colors

he feels grass tickle the bare flesh of his ankles, the wind sends chills down his spine and he knows, he knows that tonight will be the last. they are edging closer to something they have no power over. the night is about to come to an end, and night is all he has known throughout his life that he isn’t sure if escaping it is really worth this.

“you’ll love the morning.” he hears the latter laugh out, few steps in front of him. “you’ll love the colors. you’ll especially love the sunrise - the orange hues of it.”

he is a nightdweller, a child of the dark. he doesn’t belong to the day, like the younger does but he won’t let it stop him.

when it happens, it’s definitely not what he expects. he expects splashes of color, he expects everything to change instantly like the bunch of fireworks the younger boy talked about.

instead, it’s slow. it’s agonizingly slow and its equally mesmerizing that he almost doesn’t hear the sirens echoing in the empty field, or the rhythmic footsteps inching closer.

the grass slowly turns into a vibrant color - green, he remembers the boy say. the sky, in contrast, is a soft color, reminiscent of the greys he’s so used to. what’s the difference between light blue and gray, he wonders. then, he finds himself staring at his companion.

you were right, he thinks, i love the sunrise, especially when your eyes are reflecting the oranges. he sees life in the other’s eyes. all he can do is to envy him.

it all ends with an ear-piercing bang and he decides that he hates crimson.