Wednesday, September 24, 2014

The Stranger In My Mirror: #2. Color Me Empty.

Welcome to this space. As the title says, I have created 'The Stranger In My Mirror' posts to share with you works of fiction and occasionally real life observations from the other side of Soooz. We all have a face that we hide from ourselves, I decided to acknowledge the existence of mine, and see where it takes me.

 Some of the stuff will be dark, some humorous and many ... quirky . Yeah, quirky ...  I have decided I rather like that word.

Thanks for stopping by to take a look. Whether you like or dislike what you find, please leave a comment. I do appreciate your time.

So here we go with Story Number 2. Color Me Empty.

Color Me Empty.

 The day felt wrong.

Neither hot nor cold, dark nor light. It was grey. Murky, sweating, drowning, grey.

My mind was made up. A perfect solution to my dilemma presented itself. I took it.

I eased the safety on the Gluck, and concealed it beneath the covering of the raincoat. It must rain, I needed rain. Rain washes away so many things. Rain and pain, something to gain. The rhythm of the words in my head was pleasing. I played them over and over, seeking comfort from the calm they delivered.

The bell rang out, it was nearing time. Retribution was at hand. I smiled. Retribution, contribution, a solution. Another perfect rhyme to play on a grey day.

I walked past the brown people. The disappearing, disinterested, boring, colorless, brown people. They contributed nothing, no laughter or tears, no vivid recollections of happiness shared, nor sadness deflected. They went about their daily rituals of bus travel, train travel. They sat making no eye contact with the colorful ones. 

The inferiority of their brownness relegated them to being almost invisible.

Had they ever had color? When in their dreary, pitiful lives had there ever been a spark of joy? Had they ever experienced that thrilling rush of adrenaline to bring color and life to their faces? 

Faces with dull eyes and down turned mouths. Brown people.

The world didn’t have time or place for their kind. The world was weary of browness, the dull, the ignorant, those that contributed nothing.

The building was lit; brightly shining, luring them in. Come and find color in me, it said. Bring me your invisible selves and I will give you light, it said.

I picked up my pace. Yet the day still felt wrong. It needed to be set right. Taking the grey away was my mission. I must complete it, before the rain came.

I could hear a faint rumble. Was it thunder? Oh, yes. Yes! It was not yet close, drifting on the edge of hearing. A lovers’ sound in my ears, distant yet filled with the promises of passion to come.

Someone brushed by me, knocking my arm in their haste. “Sorry!” he said. Not stopping to see my face in his hurry towards the building of light. Sorry, sorry, sorry! Always, they were sorry! 

Sorry for this … sorry for that, they spewed the word out and felt it not a bit.

 Sorry! Just … sorry!

I waited just beyond the opening of the building.  I had such pleasure in watching, waiting, soon all would be well. I would make it so. Me, I, myself; could they not see me? Had I become brown? 

But no, I know better. I have color and shape, a past and a history. I know laughter. It visits me and comforts my mind.

The late ones come running, all in a bother. I smile at their faces all looking for light.

I am calm as I watch them scurry and hurry, scurry and hurry, they mustn’t worry, another sweet phrase to add to my list.

The package lay untouched, like a virgin bride. No-one had ventured to see what it was. I smile, at their stupidity.

For I know, I know, what joy lay in its secret folds. It was my gift. 

My contribution to the world of the brown.

The thunder bounced again in and out of my mind, not yet fearsome, I was patient. All would be well.

I picked up the package, freshly admiring my work. Brightly wrapped ... it said gift, it said pleasure, come open the treasure.

The bell rang eight, then nine.

Soon, it said.

I entered the building, I sat patiently, my turn was coming.

The thunder grew closer, hummed in my mind, in again, out again … always on time.

My turn arrived. It was out of the light, not blackness, yet darker. I sat and talked with the faceless voice. “Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

The voice came back at me … told me I was forgiven. I was forgiven and all would be well.

I knew, before the faceless voice had confirmed it. Of course I was forgiven. Why wouldn’t I be?

The thunder roared now, finally. 

Yes, and then came the rain.

I put down my gift. I walked outside in the rain. Excited and trembling, I pressed the button. The cathedral exploded in tempest and sound, screaming and fleeing, the brown people ran. I waited and watched.

My gift was opened. The brown ones lay dead. I had given them color and the color was red.

I put my gun to my head.


  1. Very dark, but well written, emotional. Wow.

    1. Elaina, thank you so much. Yes it is very dark, I'm so glad that you felt it was well written, that means a lot to me. xo Soooz

  2. Ouch! Powerful stuff, Soooz. Nice to delay the revelation of the 'target' until the irony of 'Forgive me father, for I have sinned'.

    1. Hi, Bill. I'm pleased that you found this a powerful piece. I hesitated before posting it, wondering if it was perhaps too dark. But I decided that this is after all a space I have created to share this type of story, so I went with it. Thanks for making the time to read and comment, it is appreciated. xo Soooz

  3. A dark look into a the mind of a psycho who has poetic thoughts of destruction. Love the line, " A lovers’ sound in my ears, distant yet filled with the promises of passion to come." Terrific job, Soooz..

    1. Thank you, Tom. Your opinion means a great deal to me, and I'm delighted that you found it worth a read. xo Soooz


Please leave a comment/review on any of the stories/poems contributed.