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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1845084-The-Colour-of-the-Wind
Rated: E · Short Story · Emotional · #1845084
One boy knows something no one else does.
The Colour of the Wind

The world around him was grey. It was wet, always wet. Dark. Cold.
  He saw this plainly, but he felt other things. As he aimlessly wandered the worn streets of this nameless metropolis, his feelings reflected the views of those, and that, around him. Walking past the bland people, he knew what they bore; he heard their fear, tasted their sadness. They were all scared.
  Dominic could see their odium, their hate of change. He could smell the uniformity. But he could not feel their interest. They didn’t want anything. Nobody wanted anything. Nobody wanted to change.
  And Dominic wanted to know why. Dominic always wanted to know why, but nobody ever told him.
  Why are they sad, mother?
  They aren’t sad, Dominic, just busy. We lead busy lives here.
  Where, mother? Where are we?
  Come inside, dinner is ready.
  Dominic was not satisfied, but knew he would learn nothing new. He walked inside, dragging his feet. Even his house was dull and lifeless. The whole thing was the same shade of brown. It felt wrong to him. He despised it.
  Mother?
  Yes, Dominic?
  Where is the colour?
  What do you mean? There is colour everywhere. This house is coloured. The sky is blue, the clouds white. Your shirt is green.
  Never mind.
  Dominic went to bed after eating. There was nothing to do; he was weary with the world. The next day passed the same.
  And Thursday.
  And Friday.
  Dominic’s mother never told him anything, didn’t answer his questions. Couldn’t. But he was different. He wanted change. Everything needed to change, he just didn’t know how. Dominic needed... something...
  This world around him was so dull. So much of nothing happened.
  Mother?
  Yes, Dominic?
  Can we do something?
  We are doing things.
  Can we do something different?
  What’s wrong with what we are doing?
  Never mind.
  Mother?
  Yes, Dominic?
  I’m going for a walk.
  Dominic left the house quietly. Why did it have to be so boring? Dark? Cold? Where was everything? Where was the fun? The joy? Dominic had never even seen a real smile. People in this place were content, but they were not happy. It only occurred to him, he believed, because he could feel these problems. Nobody else cared. Nobody else could care; they didn’t know what they were missing.
  Dominic traced the path he always did when he was frustrated. His head down, he just kept trudging forward. He almost fell when he bumped into somebody. He hadn’t expected anyone along this stale path, nobody was ever out here.
  Sorry, excuse me.
  Oh, don’t worry, it was nothing.
  Dominic looked up. People didn’t talk like that.
  Whatcha lookin’ at me like that for?
  Sorry.
  Oh god, here we go. My name’s Richmond.
  What was wrong? Why wasn’t he sad? Why was he talking to Dominic? Was he… smiling?
  I’m Dominic.
  Well, Dom, not much to do ‘round here, is there?
  Never is.
  Prolly never will be, either.
  Hmm.
  What’s wrong? Say somethin’! This place is boring enough.
  Dominic was scared. He saw another child. He smelled the cold, wet air. But he felt joy. It was like a glow, a power radiating from this boy. But isn’t this what he had wanted all along? A friend? Something different?
  Sor- Why aren’t you sad, or “busy”?
  Whatcha mean? I am busy.
  Why are you talking to me?
  Okay. Come here, Dom, there’s something I’ve gotta show you, and you’re coming.
  Uh.
  Dominic didn’t have a chance to decide. The other boy, Richmond, hurried ahead. They moved through the gloomy metropolis. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, letting them pass unhindered. The place appeared more lifeless than ever before in comparison to this boy.
  Where are we going?
  Away.
  Away where?
  Away from here.
  How far?
  Not far.
  Okay.
  They reached a more rural district. It was still dead.
  They say that nobody can make another happy. They say that you have to take it for yourself.
  Who says that?
  Dom, go over that hill.
  Dominic had lived his whole life bored. This world was stupid. Dark. Cold.
  He had gone all his years of life being frustrated at the tedium of simply living. He had asked so many questions, and received so few answers. He hated it. He had wanted to leave. But Richmond was right. What had Dominic done for himself, or for any others? What had he done to change things?
  Now he had an opportunity. He had the chance to change things; to fix the world. It was within his grasp. So why was he scared? Why was he terrified of what might happen, of how it might change? Why could he not go over the hill?
  C’mon Dom. We need it.
  Dominic felt rather than heard the truth in Richmond’s words.  He approached slowly. He wanted to get to the other side, but his legs didn’t. He realised his problem. He was just like them. He saw the problems, but was too pathetic to fix them
  He rallied his frayed courage and marched to the top of the hill. And Dominic saw.
  He saw beauty. He saw power.
  He saw a rainbow. Colour.
  And when he smiled, the world smiled with him. The nameless city reflected his emotions. It lived.
  Dominic fell.
*    *    *
The world around him was different.
  It was clean and white. But it was strangely reassuring. His blurred vision shifted around the room. He saw posters of different people, but couldn’t read them.
  Dominic heard new sounds. This new place hummed with life. People walked past his door. He heard people talking, joking. Laughing.
  ‘Dom?’
  ‘Mother?’
  ‘Dom! You’re with us!’
  ‘Where, mother? Where are we?’
  ‘Home.’
  And Dominic knew it. He felt it.
  ‘Can I stay here instead?’
  Dominic’s mother laughed and cried and called for the doctor all at the same time.

© Copyright 2012 Benjamin Cain (armeda at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1845084-The-Colour-of-the-Wind