People were different colors.
In my eyes, anyway.
I grew up with the ability to see people’s colors.
It outlined their bodies, and gleamed in their eyes.
I could see it in their footprints and on their breath.
My ability made me feel special.
Different.

When I was younger I observed lots of things.
Some people were surrounded by light shades.
Pinks, yellows, some white here and there.
Others were cold.
Blacks and grays, along with dark reds.
I knew more than anyone should have.

I used to be a mint green, just like my eyes.
That was before everything changed.

My friends left me.
Others were afraid.
Thier secrets weren't secrets anymore.
I don't think they understood.
I stayed in my room all day.
Because what else could I do?
The only colors I saw were mine, when I looked in the mirror.

At first I was emerald green.
I didn't mind being alone, I didn't mind the quiet.
Then I was blue, my color swirled around me and was distracting.
I felt lonely and depressed, like nobody cared about me.
After that I was a dark red, the same as the shirt I'm wearing right now.
I felt nothing except hate and despair.

I stopped looking in the mirror after that.
I didn't want to see myself darken.
A mask hid the colors on my breath.
The mirror was no longer on the wall.
During the winter I sat in the snow, but didn't look at my footprints.
The snow was like the mother I never had.
The snow was a blinding white.

One day a girl with reddish hair joined me.
I tried to push her away, but she was stubborn.
Wasn't she afraid?
She came back each day.
We exchanged names.
She told me stories.
I said nothing, but she knew I listened.
Then, at sunset she would get up and leave.
Pink footprints trailed after her.
I think she knew I suffered inside.

It became colder and colder.
She didn't show up.
I was alone again, and tears stung my eyes.
I waited a week or so, descending back into darkness.
She left, just like the others had left me.
That’s what I believed at the time.
My heart didn't feel any differently.
It was already broken.
Until, she arrived again, very late in the night.

I was warned they were coming to kill me.
She grabbed my hand and pulled me up.
They really did hate me.
Maybe I hated me, too.
I couldn't be normal like everyone else.
Forget me, I don't want them to hurt you.
She was stubborn though.
Blinding lights and clouds of black, gray, and red surrounded us.

Was this it?
One figure, shrouded in pitch black, towered over me.
Blood dropped into the snow.
It was mint green, just like my eyes.
Maybe she did it, healed my heart.
She screamed my name.
I took another blow, this time to the stomach.
I dropped to the ground.
The glistening, cold snow welcomed me.
I awaited the final blow with my eyes closed.
It never came.

The snow was stained pink that day.