The Devil's Color is White

     Originally written on February 15th 2013


     There was once a town, where everything was white. The houses, the schools, the grass, the flowers, the clothes, everything. White was pure, clean, pristine. White was beautiful. White was Right. No one questioned this rule, as children grew up seeing white on their parents and the parents grew old seeing white on their parents. It was engraved, it was accepted and it was expected.

     And yet, the day came when a foreigner arrived. He was a traveller, looking for a place to settle down. He came in a red car, wearing a blue shirt and brown pants. He slung a bright orange backpack on his back and his slippers were neon green. 

   “Ugly!”

   “Hideous!”

   “Disgusting!”

     The locals voiced their confusion and disgust. They were shocked, horrified and afraid. This man was nothing they had ever seen before, different.

     The traveller, unaware of how his vibrant colours were somehow defiling the beauty of white, walked into a nearby inn. He stood at the counter, a sharp contrast to the pure white surrounding and asked for a room. The innkeeper wrinkled her nose in disgust and showed him the way out.

   “No coloured man will defile the whites of my inn. There is no place for tainted people here!”

     He walked out, confused and deeply saddened. Was it so bad that he was different? Was his colours Wrong? Was it a sin to be different? Maybe he needed some white clothes, a white pair of slippers, a white backpack. He needed to blend in, to belong. To be one of them.

    Suddenly, a spark ignited. Maybe there were others like him? Or maybe someone who didn’t mind his colourful ensemble? Those who would accept him for what he was, an individual.

     So, he wandered the streets, knocking on white doors, asking for a family to accept him, in exchange for some different colours that he considered beautiful. His optimism backfired. The nicer ones politely declined while some shut their doors to his face. And the ones so unwaveringly devoted to their pure and beautiful white threw white paint, water and even acid on his face and clothes, screaming words filled with hatred and malice. He would run from them, his spark of hope slowly dying each time it happened.

      One day, as he was sitting under a tree, nursing his fingers, bleeding from scorching acid thrown at him a few seconds ago, a little boy came to the traveller, carrying a white puppy with him.

   “Would you like to touch it, Mister?” the boy asked, flashing an innocent smile. The traveller smiled as brightly as he could, and stretched his bleeding fingers towards the beautiful, white pup. A drop of crimson blood fell on its ears and staining its fur. The boy gasped, not from horror, but from surprise, as the red on his puppy was something he had never seen before. It enthralled him. The traveller smiled sadly. At least a child could find wonder in his foreignness, he thought. Will acceptance come soon after? He played with the boy and his puppy, his spark of hope growing into a small fire. When he finally closed his eyes to sleep that day, the fire was burning slowly, but firmly. Orange flames dancing in his mind’s eye.

     When he opened his eyes later, the sight that greeted him was one of pure terror and heartbreak. A mangled lump of white smeared with red lay in front of him, remnants of what became of the little puppy. The white puppy he tainted red. Before his mind could even respond to the terror in front of him, he felt a sharp thud at the back of his head and hot liquid ran down his head and into his eyes giving him the visions of a bleeding red. As his knees, palms and finally his cheeks touched the ground, he heard them.

   “We knocked out the coloured man! He’s unconscious!”

   “Carry him to the town hall! We’ll burn him there for everyone to see. That’ll teach him for tainting my son and the dog with his ugly colour!”

     Ugly. Tainted. That was what he was to them. And as his consciousness began to drift away, he wondered about the pure, pristine and ever so beautiful white and how the white that everyone else idolized was the one he would forever deem the Devil’s colour.  

   

Waiting for the End

Originally written on February 2nd 2013


     It was certainly exciting, I couldn’t deny it. My heart raced as my eyes followed the steady pace of my blue pen on the crisp white of the exam paper. It was nearing the end, and every one of us, the Form Five students were eagerly anticipating it.

The nerve wrecking minutes before freedom.

All around me, pens danced on papers, each stroke much more urgent than the one before. It was the last battle. One that would bring an end to three weeks of war. A war we spent two years preparing for. As my pen made the last inky dot, ending my personal battle, I felt it again, the anticipation, eagerness, the thumping of an excited heart threatening to break out of my chest.

Four minutes left.

Papers were being shoved aside to the furthest possible corner of the small fold-able desks, their writers ready to hand them over. The clunky trots of the female invigilator on her heels we dubbed the Kung Fu shoes reminded me of the passing seconds that felt agonizingly slow. My mind was adrift. Dwelling on the school days that was only a few minutes from ending.

Another two minutes.

The hall was a restless mix of rustling papers, shoes shuffling against dusty floor, nervous giggles and bored sighs. Invigilators began their hushed discussion. Students began their noisy packing. It was the tap of pens against pencils, the thud of erasers falling onto floors and into pencil cases and the zips and clicks of closing pencil cases.

Forty-five seconds.

Invigilators began trotting across the hall, the Kung Fu shoes lady’s being the most audible footsteps. Giggles escaped the girls, euphoria was in the air. The sudden screeching of the microphone took our breaths away. And we held the ones forming.

Ten.

“Attention candidates,” the Head Invigilator began. ”Please put down your pens and paper.”

Five.

“The invigilators will be collecting your papers.”

Four.

A pin could have dropped and everyone would hear it.

Three.

“The time allocated for Biology Paper 3…”

Two.

“…is over.”

One.

The hall erupted in a sea of cheers and laughter, sighs of relief and exhaustion. I laughed and smiled and before I knew it, there were tears. Of relief, exhaustion and sadness. Our battles, our biggest war, our school lives was over. Wiping my eyes, I picked up my pencil case and took a slow step towards the exit, where many others were already running to.

Alicia and the Possibility of Wonderland

     Originally written in March 2012   


     As Alicia was walking home from school that day, she began thinking of interesting things that could, but did not happen to her that day. The list was endless, ranging from getting an A for the ridiculously mind boggling Chemistry test to the most impossible things like having her crush return her feelings or having an awesome fairy tale adventure.

  Right on cue, a fluffy white rabbit with a green watch strapped onto its hind leg ran past the bewildered Alicia. That, definitely stopped Alicia in her tracks. Her eyes followed the fluffy ball of white until it disappeared behind a cluster of bushes. Contemplating on the chances of an Alice in Wonderland adventure, she took a step towards the bushes which now looked oddly suspicious. Was there a chance of a dark rabbit hole? A passage to Wonderland?

    Suddenly, a young girl-probably in her mid-teen- yanked Alicia’s sleeves. The girl was wearing a dress that looked like it came from the Victorian era. Her hair was a wave of blonde curls cascading down her back. With a blue ribbon holding back her bangs from obscuring her small face, she seemed to be Alice herself. No questions asked, she began a long, winding explanation involving a runaway pet rabbit and her brother’s green watch. Long story short, her class was doing a play on Alice’s Adventure in Wonderland and she lost her pet rabbit along with the green watch she ‘borrowed’ from her brother. Alicia continued nodding and shaking her head despite her losing interest. Well, there goes my adventure in Wonderland, she thought. Hoping for the rabbit to finally show itself, she looked at the bushes again. 

      And as if the rabbit’s thought were synchronized with hers, it dashed pass them, leaving a trail of green plastic pieces which Alicia suspected were the sad remains of the brother’s watch. Before a witty remark could be made, little  Alice was on the ball of fluff’s heel, screaming strings of profanities which Alicia felt was a little too advanced for a thirteen year old. Unless she knew the Internet.

  Alicia stood there, next to a clump of bushes that might have been concealing the gateway to Wonderland but actually did not. With a sigh, Alicia turned around and continued her walk home, thinking of Alice and her runaway rabbit which she hoped hadn’t fallen down any holes to Wonderland. That was definitely an interesting encounter. Now, she needed a nap, preferably under a tree after reading a book and an afternoon tea in their backyard. Hopefully her sister would remember to wake her up.