Etched In Colour

Chapter 1

      I was never much of a Winter guy. I sort of figured that the white and fluffy blankets of snow were overrated. I mean, who wants to run around in the freezing cold and throw even colder snow at one another? Well, you get my point; my point being that it makes no sense! I peer out of my window and there's that white fluffy blanket, taunting me with its arctic chill. And yet I awake every morning, slip on my Winter gear and parade into that frigid weather, embracing all that it could throw at me, taking the chill because I was promised better days and greener pastures. Relationships are like that; broken ones, anyway. You date somebody and it's Summer. Everything is beautiful and the air is fresh. Flowers have sprouted and everything is lovely. But after a while, Winter comes and everything starts to die - morbid, I know but bear with me. The cold takes over. The trees have lost their leaves and their limbs are frozen. And that is much like people. The person, whether it be you or they, shed their leaves of yesterday and show a colder version of themselves. You stay because you have familiarized yourself with their Summer and remember the beautiful memories of that season. You never expected Winter to hit because you were caught up entirely in the moment. And you can either push through and hope for Summer to return, or die, having only tasted Winter before the sun.
It's 2am and I can't seem to fall asleep. My insomnia won't allow it and I feel that I'm better off not taking those damn Lunesta pills. Besides, I kind of welcome my insomnia. It gives me less time to miss out in the world and, as little sense as this may make, I enjoy watching the snowflakes drift over and create that blanket of beauty. It's something to admire. I mean, each snowflake is indefinitely different from one another in every possible way there is to imagine. And although they're all different, they come from the same sky, kind of like us. Well, I am one huge basket of metaphors, aren't I?

I pronounce myself dead, seeming as I can't get out of bed with how exhausted I am. That is until my phone vibrates. I force myself up like a zombie and groggily make my way over to the table; books and pages scattered throughout the table-top. I pick it up. Autumn.
Autumn was my first friend in college. We met through a Philosophy course taught by the intelligent and talented Professor Blackwater; the man behind my newly found curiosity of life. She had an English accent which caught my immediate attention. Auburn hair chopped at the sides so that they ended at her chin, and the back, lightly grazing her neck. She had these emerald-colored eyes that I swear I could never tire of looking at. It was like a sea of the greener pastures I so enthusiastically go on about. She barely reached 5'3 and wore some black skinny jeans with burgundy Doc Martins, accompanied by a blue flannel with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Autumn had a soothing voice that was just high enough for you to notice that she was talking to you. However, what had me at hello wasn't any physical property she possessed, but the immense moments of sadness that lit through the pauses in her smile; and I saw this because I, too, held that same saddened feature in between the pauses of my smile. At the end of class I walked up to her, determined to make my existence known.

         "Autumn, right?", I asked nervously.
         "That's right. And you are...?"
         "Noah" I said, hastily.

She held my gaze for a moment and then proceeded to extend her hand to me in an attempt to shake it. I hesitated for fear of having a sweaty palm but generously shook hers. Autumn's hands were incredibly soft, and I may have held that handshake far longer than I'd hoped because she broke off the embrace with awkwardness.
         "Well, Noah, it was nice to meet you but I really should get going --"
         "Would you like to go out and get a cup of coffee with me sometime?"
    She seemed flattered.
         "I'm more of a tea kind of girl.", she said, half-smiling.
I took this as an open invitation, delighted by what seemed to be flirting. However, women are intricate pieces of art, made with such passion and intensity that it becomes almost overflowing. You have to look far deeper into them than you have with anything else in order to understand them. Otherwise, you'd be in a conundrum and that's exactly where women want you to be. After all, an oyster with a pearl inside will do anything in its power to keep you out.

As I turned on the screen of my phone, it reads:
          AUTUMN: Meet me by Alaska in 10 minutes.
          AUTUMN: Please.

     
Alaska was this small little shore at the end of a long pathway taken from the community park. We stumbled upon it one night when Autumn, her best friend Isabella and I ran away after throwing rocks at our old Math professor's classroom window; Professor Beneké . On that one occasion, however, Autumn had picked up a heart-sized rock and chucked it as hard as she could at the window, shattering it. I mean, I really thought that her height along with gravity would fall her throw no more than a few feet. Man, did she have an arm. Aside from that, we called it Alaska because during the winter, it was freezing cold and the water had become frozen enough to walk on. You could look miles beyond and see nothing but snow. I decided to put on my jacket, throw on some Docs and head out.

Author's Note

What do you think of the dialogue? Is there any punctuation that needs fixing? Constructive criticism is welcomed!