La vie de gris 𖡎

Grey was full of envy ever since the day it was born , envious of all the other colours whose own home did not feel like a dystopian world. Where threats were not thrown around , dishes were not broken , knives were not pulled out, where they did not have to live in the persistent terror of going to bed because the voices would eat them alive or having to wake up to a bloody beaten body. And perhaps being a child of ignorance, indifference , rage and alienation is not all that bad. The suffering and hidden tears establish a fine structure for a writer. Grey did not blame black for forgetting its birthdays or not knowing anything about what grey liked , how could it? Black worked hard to provide shelter, food  and a sustainable life , or thats what grey forced itself to believe , the debts , the prison time none of that mattered. White expelled its anger out unwarranted, but grey did not mind at all , everyone needs a way out, and thats what beings do right , they burn eachother. Sure the discharge of being called a failure and the neverending verses of getting told to off itself hurt , but nothing a good hug after the conspicuous war could not fix. Grey’s garden was bare , with only withering flowers and buds that were to fade any second ,  butterflies with torn wings seeping into the petrifying mud. The nights were the absolute worst , the facade of the family used to break. The happening curtain lifted in the darkness of the silent night. It was far from perfect , it choked and numbed until grey was nothing more than grain and dust. It was a bloodbath , an infectious brawl that would make one’s ears bleed. Grey could never win in life , the constant fear of attachment and commitment drowned it, the anxiety made it fade , in a house where it got no love , it was lost . Love , passion , art , music , creativity is what we live for , all grey ever wanted and wants is a taste of that unattainable dream.

          -prachi dhawan