The bright pink of Jeff's skin when he returns from a night out, hunting; the vivid crimson of bloody wounds against his skin; the stark white of his knuckles gripping a stake; the brightness of the fire burning behind his eyes, a reflection of th(more)e one he had started in the sand; the cool green of fallen leaves in his hair; the hot lust on his tongue when he kisses Ryan for the first time in hours.
There are some brights colors Ryan cannot stand: the bright blue of the sky at dawn; the crackling fall leaves in a fire burning too close for comfort; the crimson in his nightmares, surrounding Jeff and drowning him; the ugly pink scar tissue on his neck where he was sucked dry.
Some bright colors he misses: the healthy pink that used to be under his fingernails; the lively blue that his eyes used to be; any color in stark relief under the cool morning sun; the burning in the sky during a sunset that he dared to stare at straight. (less)
They came in all sorts of colours. Pink, oranges, blues, sea green. But for some reason she choose grey. I guess it was a reflection on how she viewed the world at the time. It was full of bright colours and yet, to her, it seemed grey. She couldn't quite pu(more)t her finger on when the colour had started seeping from her world. At Christmas there had been Evergreen, rich red, gold and twinkling silver but somehow in just a few short months the world had faded. Like a much loved jumper washed over and over again until the finished product barely resembled the original. And yet, she had always known the jumper and thus was loathe to put it in the charity shop pile and have to break in a new one. Somewhere, somewhere along the line in spite of all the bright colours, she had become drawn to grey. Well, it was the combination of white and black. Ying and Yang, Good and Evil, Light and Dark. Technically, it should embody the power of both. It should be the ultimate colour, balanced, cool in a crisis but strong and adaptable. Somehow, in the case of grey, the sum of it's parts did not have a greater than additive effect. Quite the opposite. It was diluted, as if both white and black had become exhausted and fed up with each other and were just plodding along aimlessly together. Too unmotivated to actually make a break from each other but settling because it took too much effort not to. Apathetic. Grey was easy, grey was below the radar, but ironically, grey choose you. You did not willingly choose grey, she mused, as she picked up the grey V-necked jumper and headed for the till.(less)
Alfred doesn’t see in black or white or in a spectrum of grey.
He views the world in bright colours—thrown together like paints haphazardly slapped onto a canvas, dripping, blending, mixing, blurring. Half mixed, half apparent, some patches such a conglomerate that the individual shades no longer d(more)iscernible. Such is the picture of any man’s life.
Yellows for vibrancy mixed with impatient greens. Angry blacks slashed across a fearful purple, tinged with a smudge of hope. The joy of pink and the boldness of orange.
The woman with blue-tinted yearning finds the red of passion and the white of courage, only tainted slightly by the poison of grey doubt. The man with electric bright excitement that has long since faded to nothing works to conceal dark blotches with the lightness of grace. The man who lashes out has been fighting the inky stain of bad memories too long. The boy who sits alone is afraid to show off an amalgam of neon sunbursts.
No, people cannot be measured by blacks and whites and greys.
They cannot be compared on any scale.
One man’s mistake is another man’s dream. One’s sorrow another’s hope. There is no good and evil, just hopes and dreams and fears and doubts and decisions with no clear cut answer.
And to judge the outcome, one must first know the person.(less)
She remember how the hot air balloons would rise over the horizon, their bright colors striking against the blue, summer sky. Her grandma said they came from the golf course down the road. When they came over her grandparents' field the balloons were still low. They seemed massive, like(more) something of out a fantasy novel.
She would sit in her favorite tree and watch them float by so peacefully. They were close enough that she could hear the fuel burning and sending the balloon up, up, up. She was never able to see the pilot though. It made her wonder if the balloons weren't flying on their own.
The back field was one of her favorite places in the world. There was a path from the back of the paddock that lead to it. Otherwise it was surrounded by woods she would occasionally explore with her cousins.
The horses would come and graze in the field. Sometimes even deer would come join them. Last spring she had seen a mama and two fawns grazing a stone's throw away. She had been behind one of the horses, so the deer hadn't been alerted to her presence. She had watched in awe for a quarter of an hour before they went back to the woods.
Years later her grandparents moved to Florida and sold their beautiful old house. The back field and woods were probably being sold to developers. She had never gone back to see. It would have broken her heart to see her woods and field destroyed for stupid houses. What was the point of a big house if there were no fields around for exploring? No trees, no tiny stream to jump over? Just endless houses and roads. And only the memory of glorious balloons flying overhead. (less)
Spring sunlight bounced in bright colours. It was almost saturated. It was nearly to much for him to look at. Hungry, he could not find the strength and motivation to head out and buy food. He was dodging the vague shame of the night before by staying entirely still.(more) It had been a good night but the aftermath was weak and shameful.
She called. He held his phone as it rang, staring at the screen. He was honour bound to answer, he would be a complete shit if he didn't answer or at least call back in an hour. Or so.(less)
Feliciano likes to paint people in bright colors. He wants the fullness of the original subject to come through, wants them to look fully alive. But he just can’t find a blue bright enough to match Ludwig’s eyes, so he pushes the canvas away in frustration, a heavy sigh(more) leaving his lips.
“Feli…?” Ludwig was uncomfortable enough sitting here, and he wasn’t sure what was wrong now, not used to seeing the older man look so frustrated.
“I have work-“ He paused at the expression on Feliciano’s face, clearing his throat slightly. “Alright.”
“You have such beautiful eyes.” Feliciano moves to sit on his lap, paint splattered hands cupping Ludwig’s face as he lets out a sigh. “I can’t seem to get them right.”
Ludwig just shifts uncomfortably, still not sure what to say. It’s not that he has a problem telling the other not to do things, but it’s different now, he’s the guest today, and he doesn’t want to be rude. “Well…hopefully tomorrow.”
Suddenly Feliciano smiles again, hands still not leaving the other’s face. “You can stay in my bed!”
“I don’t think-“
“I’ve really missed spending the night with you… We don’t hang out as much as we should…” And it sounds so sincere that all Ludwig can do is nod.
“Maybe I can stay a couple of nights. There’s no point in taking a one day holiday.”
Feliciano smiles again at the other’s reddened cheeks, leaning in to give a kiss to each one. It might not be possible to fully capture Ludwig in paint, but it doesn’t really matter when he has the real thing right here. (less)
On Easter Sunday, bright colors fill the church. Hats and ties and shoes and flowers, people and stained glass, all of it decorating the room.
Songs tell a tale of days of old and of today. In bright colors we welcome the spirit of spring to our pasture. And yet if(more) you listen, you hear the undertone:
Praise to the king.
Glory be to the highest.
Riches will go to those who believe in God.
In the afterlife all will be given.
Well here we are - heaven, hell, and all of the above...how does it feel...in bright colors?
Do you feel more godly knowing you've gone to church on day of awakening? Do you think you could go and not be awakened? Do you think you could stay at home and awaken by yourself? Do bright colors have a damn thing to do with it?
But bright colors are pretty; they make the procession of dying feel like a kaleidoscope. Living or dead, we are the same sister - corporal beings that just need love.
At the gathering, it could be felt. The sin, glutton, greed, love, hope, resurrection, tough times at the Great Gatsby Gala. How did you think you could live so high and mighty and not expect a fall? And the children are silly.
In bright colors, I could see your dress. It's sunny and the curves of your body stir my imagination. And yet, right now, all I can do is imagine - but oh so pleasantly.
Across the room, I am tantalized by the beauty of the human form, and by the possibility of touching it. My instinct aches to touch it, breath it in, love it...in bright colors. To remove that dress, all in bright colors.