Shattered Colors

Happiness is what I thrive to become. So, I am a greedy individual. I get what I beg for and enjoy it until I want something else. The walls within my room are plastered with vivid and lucid colors. Some depict scenes of my life. Some colors move to form a short clip or a movie. The colors show the scenes of my most prideful times. Even the sorrow I brought about to others. I grin widely at those. Those are my most beloved times.

I sit, knees to chest, with my mouth agape as I gawk at my walls. My skin's pigment never rests upon a natural color. Instead, it soaks in the flashing colors.

An unexpected gift is set at my feet at each glance I give the walls. I shudder in happiness�"though, I want to be it, not feel it. Of course, each gift is a surprise, though I guess knowing what you want and receiving it wouldn’t be called a surprise, but it will be for me. I am too slothful to actually do what needs to be done in order to receive such glamorous things, but I always get what I want. Envy, gluttony, lust, and wrath: are the gifts I speak about. I embrace them; wear them like a winter coat. They are so joyous, so greeting. They will be further known as my family. 

I place each of them at their own special wall. Well, the wall that most suited them. Envy sits upon the wall, where clips are playing beautiful individuals that hold their hands and kiss. Gluttony sits upon a wall, where there are flashing images that have captured needles piercing my arms and the clear Vodka bottle within my grasp. Lust lies upon the wall that played like a movie, revealing one of my precious times of losing my innocence. And wrath, oh lovely wrath, he stands against the wall, where clips and pictures play about a time where a knife tore into an indigo-eyed person, their blood leaking across the floor and the spark within their pupils fading.

I mount myself upon my feet and clap my hands and wobble forward. Tears streak down my face as I gazed at every image within my room, as I gazed at my family. 

This is it. This is my life. “I am whole! Let me live for eternity!”

My chant ricochets throughout my room, awakening the voices my family had kept hidden. Each of them lift their chin to the ceiling and bellow out words in different languages. Their portrayals of my most beloved times have vanished. Their eyes are struck as black holes. Their skins are tightening and then loosing as they age. A foot or so off the ground, they rise up into an opening in the ceiling. I cower down upon my knees, hands cupped before me.

“What is this?” I question flabbergasted by the sudden change of my room’s appearance.

Within the onyx hole along the ceiling, flickers of an indefinite light source sparkle like stars. Rather than a stunning manifestation, the light whips like lightning and clouts every wall, dividing memories, tarnishing beloved moments, and shattering the colors of my life. The final whip of lightning is aimed toward me. My bewildered body is too feeble to spring from the teal lightning and my chest is punctured by its tip. Blood protrudes from the edges of the wound and sprinkling onto the floor and soon pouring.

The lightning bolt rips out from my chest and returns back into the closing hole along my ceiling. I am left upon my feet, blood stained shirt and pants, and a gaping whole in my chest. My old pale, bare feet are buried beneath an inches deep blood puddle. No light glistens within that to showcase my ghastly face.

I stagger a forward, shivering in terror, my feet imprinting themselves along the white floor. I slide my grisly hands across walls that depict no life. Within this room there are no doors or windows. Only white walls and a diming light.