Colours

Colours


Seconds before sunset there was an en masse of blackness on the precipice. It had gravitated together, and now it cowered behind the rocks waiting for the Sun to die away below the shadowy horizon. The black, dark, sinuous shape stayed calm but with cataclysmic joy waiting to grow. Ceaselessly dreaming and preparing itself for its reign of the darkness. The rule of malevolence and black was ever so close. It faced the sea, which extended infinitely beyond description and more beyond perception; but soon it would yield under control. With glee and demonic contentment, it danced, but rapidly the hidden crevices of emotions let loose its apprehension. Just as a revolving hurricane spins ever greater winds around its dead calm eye; its worries gathered to become formless expressions of primal fears. Pure white clouds obscured the darkening sky and magnified the luminous rays of the sun. Soon a white thunderstorm had brewed and torrents of silvery sheets poured to cleanse the world. The stranger at the cliff could no longer bear the coruscating patterns of the rain, as they needled their way through it. As suddenly as it started a flash of immense brightness marked the death of the shape. A bolt of lightning met the blackness and the ball of darkness tumbled down into the deep abyss and straight at the angry tumult of the sea. The sluicing rain obscured the spectacle, but the triumphant orchestra of the victorious sky was unmistakably clear.
I had a neighbour once. He was seven and so was I. However, he was contended with his life and I was not. I was green, jealous and envious. He had fifteen fishes, three dogs, two kittens, five hamsters and scores of birds such as parrots, sparrows, quails and even a king fisher. There was once he even brought an aardvark to my house, just to boast at his father’s occupation. His father was working in the zoo, and I suppose he decided to turn his house into one too. Dreadfully jealous at his collection of exotic pets, I was desperate to have at least one for myself. My unrelenting, obstinate efforts to get an animal in the house were to no avail. I begged, pleaded, tried being a great boy in the house and even tried to please my parents, but the immutable answer from them was an absolute no.
My world turned black, hopeless and sad. There were even a few occasions I remember crying, putting up a fight, showing my absolute vehemence but I could not stop my neighbour’s banter. He kept making fun of me showing off his pets. Paler and paler I grew by the day, to the point that I was sick with depression. Eventually, my parents understood my desperation and gave way to my irrevocable demands. I asked for a piglet, being absolutely serious about it, but I could only squeeze a fish out of my father. That was when I met Colours, and for the first time as it seemed, immense euphoria.
My brother and I had a dispute in naming him. He wanted to call it Carrot, for, the fighter fish had an unmistakable hue of scarlet; but I was adept at quarrels and naturally I won this one. He was called Colours, as I wanted him to represent the various emotions I had endured before I managed to get him. Solo in his little fish tank, I held him like he was my only child - carefully feeding him, taking care of him and without fail boasting about his greatness to my zoo friend next door. His tank was always kept immaculately clean, and he was pampered like no other pet of its kind. However, little did I know that Colours was going to teach me an important lesson; the lesson that would change me, and my life.
There were times, when I wanted to blow my trumpet by displaying the “uncanny” talents and abilities of Colours. I wanted him to fight with the giant Arrowana next door. If Colours won, killing my friend’s fish, I would be triumphant and I could then further brag about Colours’ greatness, and how I trained him into such a strong and brawny animal; but what about when Colours was the one to die. Realising that the price to be paid in a fight was the stark fact of death, I started to think more about him, and more than me teaching him tricks he started to teach me life. In such occasions, I spoke to Colours aloud. My brother called me names and maligned me in school to such an extent that it had stained my “reputation”. But that did not stop me from talking to him. I felt him saying something to me. The few minutes of muted silence passed as I looked at him into his fishy eyes and him looking into mine; I felt the life within him. It had become pretty obvious that we had built a bridge of communication.

It had been seven months and five days since Colours’ arrival and I had sensed something perturbing him. That in turn worried me. Bizarrely, Colours began banging on the tank sides and once he even chipped a bit of his side fin. I remember myself crying that day for three hours, and that was the very first time I cried for someone else other than me. I felt blue and angry. Vexed with Colours not talking to me, I tried different ways and means of communication. In desperation that day, I dipped my hand in the water and that was when I found him to be exceptionally elated. He kept rubbing at my fingers and I in turn stroked him gently. At that moment I discovered the problem; the reason for why he was behaving in such a way; and that was when I understood Colours.
Running to my father, I asked him if he were free the Sunday morning. For the first time I saw him smile at me; a contended hearty smile. I found the magic working. Then slowly I told him what I was thinking and what I wanted to do. Delighted, he was more than happy to take me to the beach.

That particular Sunday was not quick to pass. At six in the evening, I got myself ready and at seven o’clock I held Colours’ caringly in a plastic bag filled with water and trotted off to my father’s Lancer. At the reservoir, my dad waited in the car and I had the moment for myself. There, the scene was much closer to a spectacle. The reservoir much like the ocean had stretched beyond my vision and met with the sky. Climbing a nearby cliff-like stone structure, I looked below at the water. The sun was just about to die away below the horizon. Intriguingly, the clouds had gathered and it started to drizzle. It all started to come back. I was just playing my imagination. The dark days when I had dreamed and woke up in a fright in the middle of the night; they started to come back. Ball of darkness: that was my description. I was the selfish, black fiend. Holding Colours in my hands I cried. He was the key. He could relieve me from this conglomerate of confusing colours: Blackness. When one had absorbed up all colours and emotion he was black and evil; and that was me. For my joy I had sacrificed the freedom of Colours. I wanted to undo the done. Desperately I fought back my tears, but was unsuccessful. I cried.

Moments before our parting, I looked intently at Colours’ eyes. It sparkled in understanding me. Suddenly everything started to make sense. Colours was the reflection of my soul. He was me, and this angel was trying to knock some sense into me. Just when I had realized it, there was a bright flash and my magical world suddenly turned normal. Clouds which obscured the sun had gravitated away, and the strong rays had bathed me. I had turned white with immaculate purity. I had returned to what I was to and the glimpse of spark I saw in Colours’ eyes had vanished and the time had eventually come.