The Colour of My Enemy
Buttercups, sunshine, bright, happy, cornflakes. Makes me feel sick. Yellow filling up the world. Too much yellow.
I dye my hair black. I wear black clothes. I don't eat cornflakes. I have a night job. Nothing yellow around me, nothing to remind me of sad memories. Why did David have to turn up with a yellow rose? Memories have flooded into my mind.
Yellow where my bruises fade away. My shaven hair lying in a blonde mess on the floor. The brightness of my ripped shirt. His car as he drove away. Yellow crowding in.
Granddad's skin as he lies in the coffin, people crying all around, golden roses in the remembrance garden. Gold jewellery on people offering false condolences.
Yellow satin bridesmaid dresses as my sister gets married. Lost to me now, no one left to talk to. Used to brush her silky blonde hair. No one to look after. Alone in my nightmare.
Butter on pancakes, lemon meringue pie, cookies. Luxuries I'm not allowed. The simple pleasure of cheese, not for me. Banana flavoured cough medicine. Sickly sweet honey. Monotonous cornflakes. Food matching my fading bruises. Sadness.
Gold rings flashing as the fist descends. No escape.
Eyes watering, nose running. Wattle nearby, damn hay fever.
Happiness. Watching the neighbour's dog running free. Bright eyes and boundless energy. Not locked away, freedom stolen, like me. Horror. Blood as the car doesn't stop. Golden fur covered in red. False freedom.
The yellow rose is still in front of me, mocking me. Yellow filling my vision, memories filling my mind. Yellow. No. No room in my life for yellow. It can't exist, I won't let it exist, impossibility. David doesn't understand. Confusion on his face. Yellow. Gold earring in his ear. I close the door, shutting both him and the memories out of my life. Yellow is no longer a reality.
I wrote this short story in the year 2000 for an English class.