The Colours Lead Me Here

Hey guys, I’ve been working on a short story in my free time just for fun (and to get those ravaging plot bunnies out of my head) and decided to post bits up as they come along, kind of like a serial. Hope you guys enjoy reading it 🙂

The Colours Lead Me Here

My name is Cinnamon. And I see the world through a layer of gold.

Well, that’s not true technically. I mean, I don’t think it’s physically possible for anyone to actually see the world in gold, unless scientists invent some sort of weird contact that’ll coat everything in it, kind of like looking through a piece of coloured cellophane. No, what I mean is that I see the world through a type of of golden glassy haze. Metaphorically, of course. I see the world simply, through the beauty of straightforwardness, honesty and satisfaction. I do what I need to do. I don’t do what I don’t need to do. I don’t reach forward, I let things come to me and I never ask, just accept. I’m candid, I’m satisfied and everyone’s happy.

It’s a good way to see the world.
But all that changed when I met Nicholas Green.

The day of my death wasn’t significant. In fact, I don’t even see it as a significant day now. It was simply the time where I dropped off the world, stopped breathing, stopped living. My death probably meant more to my family and friends than it did to me. I didn’t even care too much. A side to seeing the world through gold is not really worrying. If you have no control over what’s happening or what’s going to happen, drop it. Let it happen. Don’t think. It’s a waste of time. What are you gonna do about it anyway?

My family and I were on the highway. We were going on a holiday. It was long overdue; Dad had been promising Dylan we could go to Jervis Bay since last year. He was driving in the front, mum was looking at her large plastic map; the type that can be folded into a tiny square and tucked into a purse, Brent was sleeping in his little baby chair and Dylan was playing with a small wooden aeroplane, violently swinging it around while going ‘BRRWHIRRR’ the way little kids do.

Either he was swinging it too hard or the aeroplane was a piece of crap, a wing flew off and hit dad in the eye. For a second, he went off course and swerved. For a second, our car went in the opposite lane. Just a second. But in that exact moment, a car happened to be driving on the other lane and we collided. A second earlier, dad could’ve swerved back on course. A second earlier, that car would’ve passed us and we would’ve hit nothing. And the funny part was the other lane at that time was almost empty. What was the chance of a collision?

I know that my death was instant. I’ve heard the paramedics say it, I’ve seen the nurses write it, I’ve listened to my parents sob it. Yet, there was this moment-this terrifying, single moment-where I could feel everything. I could see and hear everything in blinding bright clarity, the squeal of the tires, the scrape of metal on metal, my mother’s scream. Most of all, I could feel this sucking on my chest, this awful sucking-not really a pain but almost like someone was pulling something out-that was so great and powerful, I felt myself being lifted up, up and away and my body slump back, eyes fluttering closed.

So that was it. That was my death; that moment when my body died and I was torn from it. It was not horrifying. I was not scared. I had no time to do anything other than observe and take it when it came. They called it instant, but it was not instant; it was not long, it was not short, it was not forever. Some people might call it their forever, since it was their last conscious moment and all, but it was not my forever. It ended. I died. My forever came after that.


About everburningcinders

So so...where to start? Well, for starters, I can say that I'm one of those kinds of people that don't care about their hair, or desperately need another pair of shoes. In fact, if you see me, you wouldn't notice me at all. I'm just the shadow, sticking to the walls, head buried in a book or eyes glazed over in a daydream. I want to be listened to and I want to be appreciated. My moral in life: Life is life. Believe in it and suck it up. I look forward to meetin' ya all!
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2 Responses to The Colours Lead Me Here

  1. karmicangel says:

    What I love about this post is that ‘plot bunnies’ is a tag. The story is really good as well, but you had me at plot bunnies.

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