Watercolors

I had expected this night to be my last; that is, until you arrived.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

I didn’t lift my gaze from the dark water below me; I knew where you were. You were standing behind me, a little to my left, eyes also fixed on the rippling sea that shone like blackened glass so many feet beneath us. Your shoes barely made a sound as you came to stand right behind me. I could feel your warmth against my back. I had never really realized how cold I was before.

 

“Same reason you’re here, I suppose.”

 

I should have been surprised at how calm my voice sounded, but I wasn’t. I hadn’t felt anything even vaguely reminiscent of true emotion in months. They had all drained away, slowly, like watercolors bleeding off a canvas that had been left in the rain. Something that had been so vibrant and colorful before, now nothing but an empty white canvas.

 

“And what reason would that be, do you think?”

 

You stepped to the side and sat down next to me silently, letting your feet dangle over the concrete edge just like mine. For a moment, I let my gaze wander from the icy stillness below and flit to you instead. You seemed peaceful, content, and warmth was glowing in your eyes. You didn’t fit into the gray picture that I had tinted for myself here. Someone as lovingly painted as you should never be sitting by a white canvas like me. Unlike me, your colors hadn’t been washed away yet.

 

“To end it all.”

 

Maybe the description of a white canvas was the wrong term for me. White is pure, and innocent, and good. White is the sweetness of a first kiss, the loyalty and trust of love. White is everything you were. White was the background on which all of your brilliant colors were brushed. My colors had bled out until only black was left, wet ash that had been smeared across my canvas until there was no trace of innocence visible. No, my white was forsaken that first day I had discovered that blood was my favorite shade of red.

 

“Is that why you’re here, to end it all?”

 

I let my gaze fall back to the water below me, unable to bear looking at you for a second longer. For the first time since I had made my decision, I felt ashamed, unsure. The first emotions that had stirred within me since hell had frozen over. Why, though, did I feel ashamed? Weren’t you sitting on the same bridge I was?

 

“Yes. Why else would I be here?”

 

Why else, indeed? Why else would someone be sitting on the edge of a bridge and one in the morning, just a little fall away from oblivion? To watch the stars? I hadn’t seen the stars for weeks. I hadn’t bothered to look. Stars were cold, distant, caustic. Stars were the lights that only helped to make my scars seem a little starker, a little paler. Stars made my blood run cold.

 

“Isn’t anybody going to miss you?”

 

I couldn’t help but bring my gaze back to you again, this time in disbelief. Miss me? Who would miss me? Who misses the waterlogged canvas that was forgotten in the rain? Once the colors are gone, it’s worthless. And that’s all I had become, worthless. All I had to do now was let myself go and I’d be nothing more than my metaphor—drowned and blank.

 

“How long have you wanted to do this?”

 

You ask me this when it’s obvious that I won’t—or can’t—answer your other question. But this one, too, has no easy explanation. How long had I wanted to end my suffering? I wasn’t completely sure. It hadn’t been one single, dramatic event that caused my life to come crashing down around me. It hadn’t been someone dropping my canvas into a river. No, it had been slow, gradual, like one raindrop after another as they slid down the painting, leaving ash trails in their wake, so void of color. Instead of the sudden shattering of a glass vase upon the floor, I had cracked, piece by piece, shard by ragged shard, until I was scattered on the floor with no way to fix me. I had faded, drop by drop, until there was nothing left of me but my scars and blood and nightmares.

 

“For a long time now. I’m sure of what I’m doing. There’s nothing left for me here.”

 

But was I? Even though I had said it with such conviction, such certainty, there was a shadow of doubt laced through my words. I could tell you sensed it. I could tell by the barely imperceptible smile that ghosted across your lips for little more than an instant, but it was there. I hated you for that. I hadn’t smiled in God knows how long. How was it that you could smile and I couldn’t? But I knew the answer to that. It was because you had been painted in the colors of the sunrise, and I had been blotted out by the taint of twilight. But I didn’t hate you for that. No, I admired you for the way you cast light on others, like the dawn sun. I was just the moon, a dirty little rock that stole your light and feebly tried to pass it off as my own. There was nothing romantic about moonlight. Moonlight was the sun’s sloppy seconds. 

 

“There’s nothing for you?”

 

Once again, I can’t keep looking at you, and I let my eyes fall back down to the water. It’s so still, so dark and cold and slick like glass. For a wild second I wonder if, when I fell, I would go through the glass and end up in an Alice In Wonderland world. But no, there are no rabbits with watches talking doorknobs here; it’s just you, and me, and death a hundred feet below.

 

“No. My family doesn’t care, my friends don’t care, nobody cares. It’d be better if it was just over.”

 

I consider just letting myself fall right there, ending the conversation forever. What was the point? Talking was a waste of time and oxygen. I had tried talking, and it had ended with a broken heart and a bloodied wrist. I had tried, and I had failed. I had left my canvas in the rain. And how fitting, that my blood had run as freely as the colors had, drop by metaphorical drop? I had to laugh at the fact that being this close to darkness left me feeling oddly poetic.

 

“You’re wrong about that, you know.”

 

I had to choose where I was going to look, and the water or at you. I finally chose you, because I could feel your own gaze directed at me. I met your eyes with mine, and I saw something there that I hadn’t seen in what seemed like years—compassion. Or maybe I was just kidding myself. Maybe you were only suggesting that we jump together, to make the journey a little easier. I wondered what it would feel like to die while holding someone else’s hand.

 

“Wrong about what?”

 

You stood up, slowly, as if not to frighten me with any sudden movements. At first I thought you were just going to take that one half-step off the edge, and I felt myself starting to protest. Someone like you, with the colors so bright and warm on your canvas, you should not be the one that is rocked to sleep by the water. You, the sunrise, the light, I couldn’t bear to think of you and your colors suffocated and hidden by the wet inky blackness of the water so far below. Only people like me, blank and drowned and ash-streaked, the innocence lost of the human race, the filthy little moon surrounded by filthy little stars, should be the one to hold their last breath and sink into icy oblivion. People like me, who have no colors to brighten the world with, only shades of blood and rain.

 

“You’re wrong if you think that nobody cares.”

 

And you move slowly again, but not to jump off the concrete ledge. No, you outstretch one pale, perfect hand to me. And before I know what I’m doing, I take it. And you lift me to my feet, and with one last glance at the water, turn to leave, my hand still clasped in yours.

 

“You never answered my question. Why were you here?”

 

I couldn’t help myself; I had to know. And as you led me further and further from the place that I had chosen to be my grave, you turned your head and smiled.

 

“Because I believe you still have many colors to paint the world with.”

Author's Note

Honest opinion of plotline, dialogue, grammer, everything, please.

Reviews

[Kaleidoscope Apocalypse]

I like the way that you have presented this piece. It leaves one feeling moved and in some way I believe all people can relate to this story. You've done a very good job with this.

The only real complaints that I have with this are the way you worded it between the two when talking. You leave it up to the reader to assume who is talking when you sometimes are not clear about it. In your mind it may be crystal clear, but to a person who hasn't worked so hard on this, it may not be as evident.

You may also want to watch for using words improperly. In this piece there were a few places where you typed "and" instead of "at," but that can be easily fixed.

There really is no backstory to this piece, but I think that adds to the fact that most members of your audience can relate to it.

I love the comparisons between the canvas and a person, the colors and emotions, feelings. You've brought a very creative impression to this and your descriptions are lovely. Keep it up, you've done well!

[fgsgdsf]

Wow. This was brilliant!
There was so much emotion running through this. This reminded me of the novel New Moon by Stephanie Myers =D
Once again brilliant job!
-Allie

[Dawn Jones]

I like the way you put your descriptions together.

[The Autumn Faerie]

I loved it!
It's so heartfelt, so beautifully wrought, that I honestly feel moved by it.

My only real complaint is to maybe write (I'll assume this is a girl and boy, told through the girls perspective, though I cannot say) he and him instead of you. It would just make it seem so much nicer, so much more professional.

I'd love to see more of your work sometime!

[mick weller]

Hi Isabella,

'I didn't lift my gaze from the dark water below me; I knew where you were. You were standing behind me, a little to my left, EYES also fixed on the rippling sea that shone like blackened glass'

Your Ist person viewpoint gives me a problem st. away in that you can hear/sense that presence behind off to one side but you then know what that character is looking at (?)

watercolor and canvas..?

But I like the way this is presented... would it be tiresome if the thoughts were in italics (?)
sorry to be pedantic, but writers need to be - editors certainly are!

hope this is useful to you!

[Solis-Lopez]

D= *jaw is on floor* that was amazing! ur diction and metaphors are amazing! u have a very eloquent way of writing these people's emotions.
my friend says more of the same. "It was like a crazy dream." she says...and "her sentence formation is OMG AMAZING" is what she's trying to say......i think ^-^
hope to see more of ur work!