Intro

As the rain trickled down outside my window I couldn’t help but feel lonely, to feel that this life will be forever. I know I only have one life but it feels impossible that it’s this one. My life is colourless, a white canvas on which I’m too scared to draw on. If only I had the courage, or the strength, I would fill my life with colour. Everything about me is colourless and dull but I keep going and try to find the life I really want. Now, as I moved to Twinbrook a few hours ago I find it’s changed since I’ve been here when I was 10. Everywhere I look the colour is so much, whoever I see looks so bright, and most of all, the town and everything and everyone is filled with colourful energy.

I’m Cream, Cream Sparkston, and this is my journey to colouring my life.

When my taxi drove through the streets to drive me to my new house I poked my head out of the window like a dog, letting the wind mess up my hair and stroke my face; hear and there I heard people talk once they saw me, and I don’t think all of them were saying pleasant things.

“Just look at her! She has no colour” a guy gossiped in a low voice.

“I know! She’s so grey…but at least give her a chance. Maybe she’s nice and colourful inside” the woman whispered back, flashing a smile to me.

I can’t help but find it scary; all these people, all with different colour skins and…just everything, so different, and colourful. I keep feeling like I don’t belong here, with all my white and colourlessness, but every time one of those berry-coloured people talk to me I feel so warm inside, so loved. Ah…love…something I haven’t had for a long time…I don’t think any orphan feels as much love as most children. That’s right, I’m an orphan, and that’s why I’m so white.

As I stare up at my newly started painting I can’t help but think of the last time I saw my parents, right before the ‘accident’. I don’t think it was an accident; that fire couldn’t have started on its own, not one as vicious as the one that stole my parents away from me. My parents were very popular but every respected person in the world knows they have to pay a price to have their life as is. My parents’ price to pay was utmost, honest jealousy from certain people. Some people, most of all close family friends, believe that our neighbours started the fire to get rid of all 3 of us; unfortunately for them, I survived, but I’m emotionally scarred.

A warm sunny day, just perfect for a day at the beach, became the day I would give anything to redo; I knew it was coming, deep down in my sub-conscious I remember the people who sold us this house warned me. The neighbours are mad, insane, crazy, bonkers, out of their minds…every time I talk about them I can’t help screaming these things. My parents and I were happily resting in the living room, all of us resting a head on one another or stroking their hand, but one thing was for sure, and that was that we were al relaxed.

I was only 6 years old at the time, so naturally I couldn’t remember much but the parts that I did was so intensely burned into my memory it still gives me nightmares. At that age I was as curious as any young child, and as soon as I smelled gas I became interested, sitting a little more straight and concentrated on my nose. It became stronger and stronger, and it seemed like mom and dad were slowly drifting to dreamland. I can’t remember how got them to understand the emergency but when the blurry part of the memory clears up it’s just flames everywhere.

All I can remember from there is screams, cries for help, tears and arms everywhere; I think I was part of all of those at some part. After that it was completely black; I think I might have passed out, because the next thing I remember was being carried out of the burning house in a blanket by a fireman, with a mask over my face to get fresh air into my lungs. From there everything went downhill when I got out of the hospital and went to the orphanage. I had lots of friends but I never got adopted; there were 2 sweet people who visited me every day but sadly they could never support a child though. Nevertheless, I loved them like my new parents, and all my friends like my siblings.

Ever since my parents’ death I always tried to avoid anything that could possibly, in any way possible cause a fire; yes, I’m a little neurotic when it comes fires, but you know I have a good reason. Lately though, I’ve been craving tofu dogs (yes, I’m vegetarian) and I couldn’t resist trying out the microwave. The whole time it was in there I stared at it with my phone in my hand- you know, just in case .At last they came out, crisp and delicious; I was so relieved to look around and see no flames whatsoever.

During the next few days I enjoyed the town, exploring as much as I can and meeting lots of amazing people; I was having the time of my life, fascinated by how colourful everyone is. I didn’t know a grown mad could still wet his pants! It was really funny, but I felt really bad for him too; he almost burst out crying from the embarrassment, though he felt a little better when I offered him my shoulder.

As I felt his face against my shoulder my eyes slid over the floor to where a little girl was playing, looking up at her daddy with shiny eyes and a pouting lip. I felt his head turn on my shoulder and he immediately raced to her need. It was amazing to see a guy that helpful and that concerned about something important. My heart melted when I saw those 2 together and the only thing I could think of is how I want the 2 of us to be great friends. It would be an honour to have him as a friend.

My exploration of the town continued that night as I entered the local swimming pool with a jumping heart of excitement; I’ve had a great day and I loved to see all these interesting people in 1 place, which I happened to experience here as well seeing as the lot was packed. I got a fright when one of these people jumped out at me and gave me a hug.

“I just adore how you look! Don’t listen to the people who are saying mean things. They’re just not used to people like you” she said.

I hugged her back, happy that someone was so accepting.

“Thank you” I whispered.

As I walked to get my mail after a good night’s rest in my new house in the middle of the most extraordinary town, a good looking guy with red skin approached me. I nervously fiddled with the papers in my hand- firstly, no, this is not a soap opera you see on TV where the girl immediately falls in love with the guy; secondly, you need to know that I don’t have a collage education, so I’m going to have a hard time getting a job. Seeing as half of the mail in my hand is bills and the other half is ads my problem is already big enough. I glance through the window where my easel just happened to stand, and a hopeful idea came to mind.

I invited him into my room, a little nervous as my house isn’t anything past decent.

“So, what made you decide to pay me a visit?” I asked as I recognised him as the guy who wet his pants.

“You seem like an interesting and sweet girl, while I need someone to talk to?” he replied.

“Yeah?”

“My little girl is growing up and pretty soon I’m sure she’s going to be old enough kids normally have 2 parents”

“Doesn’t she have a mother?”

“No. She died as she gave birth to our daughter. She wasn’t strong enough. She knew what would happen but she still wanted to have a child. No matter what I said she did it”

“I’m so sorry…I’ve also lost someone close. I know how it feels”

“Its a few years ago but I still miss her like crazy…if you don’t mind me asking, who have you lost?”

“I lost both my parents in a fire when I was 6” I started and before I could stop myself I blurred out everything to him. It felt good to talk about it but I felt a little shy afterwards, for telling him something so personal. To my relief he just smiled sympathetically and pulled me closer.

We shared a comforting hug to let our worries out, for them to escape from our minds and leave us with relief. We clung to each other for a few minutes with tears in our eyes before we finally let go. It felt good have all these things out, to just know someone is there for me.

I slowly walked back to my easel to pour my emotions into a painting, my brush gliding along the blank canvas as a few more tears fall onto my cheeks. My ears for some reason went on high alert and carefully listened to everything around me, but one thing I heard scared me. I heard faint voices talking outside, talking about something like bombing a house…my house…soon

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed. You can find the storyboard version here. I'd love to hear what you think, so please comment here or on the forum.