Black

The blackness engulfed him, dark like the night sky but he could still feel the sun pounding down on him. He struggled to escape from his attacker. He kicked and felt his shoe connect with her side.

"Boy! Don't kick me! I'm a tryin' to help ya!" she whispered.

He kicked again, softer this time, just to show her he wasn't cooperating.

"Do you wanna get caught boy? Maybe I should just dump ye on the street ag'in and let ye squable with the real bad boys like the rest o' 'em!"

The boy quieted and let himself be carried. He couldn't see, and everything sounded muffled. His senses were dulled. The woman stopped briefly and he heard a door open with a slow creak. Suddenly, she was tearing the cowl off of him and throwing it on a nearby chair.

"Ye stupid boy! Ye'll git yerself killed if ye don't cover up! All yer Color so brilliant ye can be spotted from the heavens!" she yelled, her cheeks red.

Her hair was frizzed up from her own face mask and her breath was labored. She sighed, slow, deep, calming.

"Me name is Yellah, like the Color from your World." she said heavily.

Yellah? The boy had never heard of such a color. Yellah, Yella, Yello, he tested in his head.

"Wait, yellow? You mean yellow?" he said shyly.

"Is that how ye say it in yer world?" Her eyebrows raised and she shrugged. "Well I guess me name is Yellow. What's yer name boy?"

"My name is Robin, Robin Christover."

"Hullo der Robin. Nice te meet ye." she said, dipping low in a curtsy.

When she dipped her frizzy hair hung in her face and she looked up slowly. Her eyes were as grey as the rest of her world. But these eyes had nice crinkles around them that made her look like she was smiling all the time. And that was different from this world because so far, nothing in this world was nice.

Desert Days

The boy trotted across the desert, breathing heavily from the attack. His little white Keds filling with sand and grit. The blinding white of this world stung against his eyes. Would the grey ever end? Would the sand ever end? He dared a quick peek over his shoulder and realized he was far from where he had fallen. He slowed his pace, then stopped. His breath steamed in front of him. Wait, steam? Not fog, it wasn't cold enough, steam. Warm steam. He passed a hand in front of his face and watched it curl away from his hand. He shrugged and continued walking towards the setting sun.

Near sunset, a couple village roofs peered over a sand dune. Throat aching, stomach grumbling, and legs aching, the boy started to run towards the village. He approached the streets, dust flying.

"Psshhtt!" something whispered. "Psshhtt!"

The boy stopped, looking around. Then he caught a glance of something in a small alleyway. A hooded figure stood, hunched over from the weight of a bundle of sticks.

"Boy! Come help me with 'dese fire sticks!" it whispered.

He stepped tentatively towards her and then ran to her aid, taking a bundle from her back. It all happened so fast he couldn't tell what had happened. A black cowl was wrapped around his face and body and he was being carried away, quickly.

Slow Motion Sword Dancing

The shovel was laid into his hands, cherry red against his pallid skin. Grasping the handle, something was different. He glanced at the handle that fitted so well into his hand and noticed there was something crudely scratched into the plastic. He squinted his eyes and leaned closer to the handle until he could read: I'M SORRY. Then he saw it, the glint of steel in the white light of the sun. Scramble. Dodge. Pause. Breathe. Fall. Scramble. Dodge. The Arab turned, slowly, like weights were pulling on his limbs. As he turned, he saw the war cry escape from the Arab's mouth, but it sounded like a moan, long and echoing, for time had slowed. The hands of the clock were being pushed against their natural motions. Counter clockwise.

"Tick. Tock. Stop the clock." the Arab sang, "Rid. Rid. Be rid of the kid."

The boy's body convulsed in shivers. He hit the ground and sent sand, grey and sparkling, spraying into the sky where it hung, like stars. The kid rolled to his right, covering himself in the diamond powder sand, letting it stick to his skin and ran. Shink. The sword hit the sand. The Arab watched sadly as the boy scrambled away. His task was incomplete.

The Boy with Color

The Arab studied the boy with color. He was unlike any child he had ever seen. All of the others had been dull, but none of them compared to the brilliance of this boy. His hair was brown and cropped short, his bangs just brushing his eyebrows. His clothes were made of colors he had never seen. The colors were not existent in this world. To the child, the shirt was yellow with little white stripes, his shorts were green, like an emerald. They draped over a skinny frame and made him look younger than he actually was. The Arab studied him again, his pack was a color that he had only heard of in fairy tales, blue. The child had the most extraordinary eyes though. They were also the mystical color blue and they stood out from the pale skin that framed them. The child shifted awkwardly under the heavy stares.

"H-h-hello," he stuttered in a boyish little voice, "my name is Robin and I think I'm lost. Could you tell me where I am?"

The Arab's eyes widened, for he had never heard this language, and with such a crisp voice. He started to cower and fell upon his knees into the grey sand and looked up at the white sky. He then picked a rock from the sand and started to carve onto to handle of the little red shovel. He muttered something unintelligible towards the sky that was as white as snow and offered the child back his little red, plastic shovel, for he was afraid.

Frog Hunting Adventures

I crawled along the muddy ground, feeling the dark mud squish beneath my hands and knees, soaking though my jeans. I tasted grit mixed with PB & J, so I spit, saliva hanging from the side of my mouth. I swiped it away with my sleeve like a real adventurer would. That was when I saw it, with my arm halfway to my face, ready to attack the spittle dripping from the side of my mouth. It was a puddle, rainbow in color and shimmered like silk in the sun. I inched towards it carefully. I took a small plastic shovel from my pack and dropped it in, hearing the small 'plop' it made. I knew it was bottomless. So I took my finger and hovered it over the top. No shadow, no reflection. How curious. I wondered. So I took my finger and lightly brused the puddle's edge. I was sucked into the puddle, literally, like juice through a juice box straw. Nothing. Color! Everything! Black and white. Blank. I hit the ground with a soft 'thunk' into pure white sand, and looked up towards the sun. Except it was a moon, and there were two. I blinked. Again. Again. Blink blink. A small village came into shape, everything was grey, black, or white like an old photo. I laid down in the sand and tried to take it all in. Where am I? Why am I here? Who am I? I wondered. Soft thunks in the sand informed me that someone was approaching, quickly. Thunk thunk thunk. I rolled over and glanced in the sound's general direction. A huge Arab stood above me, blocking out the sun. He had my little red shovel in my hand, it still being red in an all colorless world. The Arab looked like a child now, holding a plastic shovel in his hand, looking kind of shy. He reached his arm out and held it out to me. I looked up at his grey-black eyes and think, Is this place safe?

The Beginning of the Adventure

I reached, with grubby, jelly-covered hands, towards the shiny brass knob on the door. My hands smeared the glob all over the white-washed door and it clicked open, signaling my escape. I stepped out and into the tall grass that waved in the slight summer breeze. The smell of roses and sea salt wafted over the wildflower covered landscape. For a small five-year-old, this was an adventure. An adventure like the ones in the movies your parents watch and you peer around the corner to sneak a peek of. The main character would look gruff and tough and had a signature weapon strapped to their back. That same character could be you if you had the imagination of a child. So that's what I imagined. I was creeping through a grassy plain to seek a precious watering hole where the lions lapped regally. You could hear the animal calls echoing across the plain like the purr of a cat. Except, it was the purr of a cat. It was a cat sitting right beside me, rubbing against my side like velvet. I was snapped out of my little adventure, and so I settled for an average household adventure, hunting the frogs that hid in the tall wildflowers.