"Whispers of Colour" - a short story by Sara Stobe

Whispers of Colour

I hold my burning face. She just hit me because I forgot to empty the dishwasher. She says she hates me, that I’m the worst thing that ever happened to her, that she wishes I had never been born, because I’m a disappointment, “just like my father”. Whatever that means, because I barely remember him. I’m not allowed to be in touch with him. She doesn’t want that. She says it’s about loyalty.

I sit on my bed, hugging my knees. I ache for love so much it burns in my chest. My heart feels like it’s falling apart, dying inside in slow motion. I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me. My mother has rejected me so many times that I stopped trying.

I don’t know how to be a better daughter. All I know is this: I can’t stay here. If I do, I’ll lose my mind. I have to save myself.

Some people are aware of the situation between my mother and me. They tell me they’re sorry, but none of them ever tries to help. Her physical abuse is less severe than her mental abuse. The mental part is invisible to others. All they see is a “loving mother”, a tidy and clean home, and the fact that I’m fed. If they knew the truth, things might be different. Maybe someone would get me out of here. But that doesn’t happen, so it’s up to me. A sixteen-year-old girl.

I’m unwanted anyway, so what difference would it make if I were gone? She wouldn’t even miss me. 

I recall a time when I ran away. The police found me and brought me back home. After my mother beat me up and I yelled at her in frustration, asking why she told the police instead of just letting me go, she said: “I told them because CPS would have taken your siblings too if they realised you were gone. I don’t give a flying fuck about you, but I had no choice.”

I don’t want them to bring me back when I try to leave again. The only problem is that I have nowhere to go. No one I can trust. I’m on my own.

I look down at the scars on my arms, self-inflicted, or “attention-seeking” as my mother calls it. She has no idea why I do it. It’s the only way to redirect the pain. It makes me feel something. It relieves me.

I get ready for bed, my mind spinning, searching for ideas of how to get out of here and how not to be found again. I sit down on my windowsill, resting my head on the frame and look out the window into the sky. I’ll never understand how the constellations are supposed to form a big bear or whatever, but it’s interesting anyway. I rub my arms, feeling cold.

Suddenly, there’s a shooting star. I’ve never seen one before, so I close my eyes and make a wish, warmth spreading through my body in excitement. I really hope they might keep their promise to grant a wish.

That night, I dream of colours surrounding me, lifting me high into the sky, flooding my skin with warm tickles. I hear whispers, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Still, I have this eerie feeling that it might be important. I don’t know where the voices are coming from; I just see shadows of all colours dancing around me.

When I wake up, I’m disappointed to find myself back in my bed, not in the sky with those colours. Shivering, I pull my blanket closer to my face. The feeling of warmth is gone, replaced by an open window blowing a fresh breeze into my room. I mentally prepare myself before getting ready for school. Mom’s busy getting my little toddler brother dressed, and I’m able to leave the house more or less unnoticed. Walking on eggshells is so exhausting that I take a deep breath when I’m outside, feeling lighter. 

I’m walking down the street, which is located in the middle of a forest, peeling my breakfast orange and replaying last night’s dream in my mind, when all of a sudden I hear those same whispers around me. Confused, I shake my head, wondering if this is a dream inside a dream, but the whispers seem to be right next to me in between the trees, so I turn my head in their direction, trying to see where they’re coming from, seeing colourful shadow shapes moving around the trees. It looks as if they’re dancing. 

An invisible force makes me walk in their direction, and as soon as my feet touch the ground of the forest, those shadows start dancing around my legs, making me walk deeper into the trees. I know I should be scared, but for some reason, I’m not. I feel as if someone wrapped me in a blanket, comforting me, hugging me. I feel love.

I’m being pulled in for several minutes until we reach an opening with flowers, an ethereal door shimmering brightly as if made of light, in the middle of it. Cautiously, I step closer, my hand shaking but moving to the door handle, feeling the urge to open it. The colourful shadow shapes dance around me and the door, the whispers turning into something like otherworldly singing. Beautiful singing. As my hand touches the handle, a relieved breathing sound escapes it, and the door falls wide open. 

I look through onto the other side, wondering who might be hiding there. It is stunning. A field of flowers of all colours possible, blue and purple, tiny birds flying in the pink sky. A tiny village of wooden cottages can be seen in the distance, music in the air and laughter. Four trees stand left and right of the door, a turquoise stone path leading its way to the cottages. 

Then I see her, a girl around my age, behind the tree, looking at me, smiling warmly and welcoming. I’m confused by all this and try to match her smile, fidgeting with the loose skin at the side of my nail, not sure what to do. The girl looks different from humans. Very light skin, and her hair looks more like a pineapple on her head than actual hair. Her eyes glow in light blue, so friendly that I feel like I could trust her without hesitation. 

She’s holding out her hand. “Finally, you’re here. We’ve been waiting for you for ages, my dear Aimee,” she says.

 “How do you know my name?” I ask, puzzled. 

The girl smiles big. “We’ve always known it. You are family, and it was about time that you found your way back to us.” 

Still in disbelief, I take her hand, stepping into their world. The colours dance wildly around me, making me dizzy, taking my sight for just a moment. I force my eyes to look at what’s happening, my body feeling strange, changing. I look down at my arms, my skin going as light as the girl’s, my scars disappearing right in front of my eyes, my hair being replaced by this pineapple style and my soul feeling light, feeling loved, as if I’m back where I belong.