wanderingsoul
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Primary Colors
Ok.. this one is old. Wrote it when I was 15--maybe earlier. It's a glimpse into the mind of a woman who killed her husband. Odd little thing... Came out of somewhere in my head.
PRIMARY COLORS
Some people dream in black and white. I read that somewhere. I remember when I read it I was dumbfounded. “Dumbfounded.” I like that word. It is full of images. It’s like the idea of people dreaming in black and white looked me in the eye and found me dumb. Dumb in the sense of speechless, not in the sense of stupid. I’ve noticed that speechless and stupid don’t generally go together. The stupid usually can’t shut up.
“Dumbstruck” is another word. It’s bigger and tougher than “dumbfounded” though. Instead of just looking you in the eye, it hits you in square in the head and knocks the speech right out of you.
I don’t dream anymore, but when I did I dreamed in colors. Big, bright primary colors—not soft, insipid pastels. I used to write down my dreams—try to make them into stories, stories that would one day make me famous.
They never did, though. The images were too big and consuming. I would write some of them down, but mostly I would just remember them and live in them for awhile. But they would throw me out—usually just after the climax. I guess they were tired of me. I was tired, too, by then, tired of the excitement, tired of the dream, tired of waking up. So I would put them away until later, to finish them, polish them into stories that would one day make me famous.
They want me to tell them my dreams—it will make me feel better, help me to remember, they say. I told them I remember fine, I just don’t dream. But I guess it is ok, though. Because they said they could help me dream. And they gave me a drug that would help me dream while I’m awake! Imagine that! Dreaming while I’m awake! I’m almost dumbstruck by that one!
And they said I could stay here all by myself, that I wouldn’t really have to “tell” THEM anything because they would just give me a tape recorder to use. That’s cool. A tape recorder—one like real writers use when they’re in the car or on a plane and can’t really write. I always thought I should have tried a tape recorder before. That way I could have said whatever came into my head without having to worry about writing it down.
That was my problem, sometimes. Images would run through my head so fast that I couldn’t catch them and write them down without missing them. And I didn’t want to miss them—I wanted to follow them, absorb them into myself—so I usually just missed writing them down. They never really went away, though, but once they disappeared from view they were out of the reach of words.
Funny, the things that come to my head.
I like primary colors. Big, bright, bold (that’s alliteration—all of the best writers use it!) colors—pure colors, not smeared and blurry around the edges like pastels. I have my own ideas on primary colors. Some people include green—but I don’t. It’s not truly pure, not primary--you can make it from yellow and blue.
Yellow. There’s a good, primary color. It’s a bright color—like the sun, warm and full of smiles. Remember when you were in school and you drew a picture of the sun? It was always smiling, beaming. Suns beam; smiles beam.
People paint their kitchens yellow when they want them bright like the sun. My kitchen was yellow. The curtains were covered with yellow flowers like the color in the center of a daisy. The tiles I put down myself were yellow like a canary. Yellow is like a canary, chirping happily.
A canary would smile if it didn’t have a beak.
Now blue. Blue is different. It’s one of the primary colors, pure and solid—no getting around that. But blue puzzles me. When you are sad, people say you are blue. But there is nothing prettier than a blue sky. The heavens are said to be blue—probably because they’re in the sky, which is blue. And the heavens are a place where you are filled with joy and contentment. But people sing the “blues” when they are unhappy. But when you sing the blues you end up feeling better. Blue is fickle.
His eyes were blue.
Oh and red! Now there’s a color! It’s my favorite one of them, you know. So many good things are red. Cherries are red. Strawberries are red. Apples are red--well, some of them. Some are yellow, too. I guess some of them are green, too, but they don’t count because they’re not sweet! Those little cinnamon candy hearts you get on Valentines Day are red. Red is sweet and hot, full of spice—and passion.
Her dress was red when I saw her standing in my yellow kitchen.
Primary colors…
Funny the things that come to my head…
The sky was real blue that day—as blue as his eyes as he looked over the shoulder of her red dress as they were embracing in my yellow kitchen.
Red dress…
Anger is red. Blood is red.
Funny the things that come to my head…
You know, they were right—about the drug, I mean. I guess I did forget some—I just didn’t remember I forgot. But I remember a lot now.
I remember the tiles, my tiles that I put down myself, bright yellow like a canary. I remember how she got them all dirty with orange. Her and that red dress.
I remember my curtains, with the flowers like the color of the center of a daisy. They were ruined now, the flowers all spattered with orange that would never wash out. Him and those blue eyes.
Funny the things that come to my head.
I hate orange!
Orange is a sweet, sticky color. It is NOT a primary color. You get it by mixing yellow and red together.
Blood is red…
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And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam as translated by Edward Fitzgerald
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9/24/2003, 2:57 am
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MarkL15
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Registered: 09-2003
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Re: Primary Colors
Very intense pschological story, often wonder what goes on in some peoples head especially people who have killed. I like how you approached this with her blocking out what she did and reembering through colours. You never actually say what happened but the way you right leaves no doubt. I like how you start reading unsure where its going and then all the little things finally make sense. Well written, you had real talent at that age, still do now but i'm not surprised you wrote this well at that age.
Last edited by MarkL15, 9/25/2003, 11:00 pm
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And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
Goo Goo Dolls - iris
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9/25/2003, 10:59 pm
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Hades0
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Registered: 11-2003
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Re: Primary Colors
Hey this is actu good.
shorter better is my motto
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11/3/2003, 12:17 pm
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