Illustration by TheRoost (speed reading book TXT) 📖

I was walking down main street at the time my life changed; it may have been for the better, it may have been for the worse. The colors were really bright that day; I meant that the yellows looked really yellow

, you know? It was almost an eyesore; but it was so beautiful at the same time. I could count the cheery blossoms on the tree's and the bee's in the orchids, and nature seemed to purposely put on a show, just for me, and maybe Mary Jane; funny, I had nearly forgotten she was there with me, especially since we were shopping for her bridal shower.

"What a terrible day, isn't it?" She said to me. I blinked, upset; she had offended Nature, and now it was hiding. Now, instead of all the bright and vivid colors that were once there, everything was hiding behind shades of gray. The sky, once that clear vivid blue that it was supposed to be on summer afternoons, was painted over by an overcast sky. The flowers seemed dull now, and it was like everything was shattered.

I didn't understand, not then. OF course not then.

"Yes, I quite agree, Mary Jane," I replied, looking down at my outfit. A white shirt, where I had painted the peace sign on, a flowing green skirt, brown wedges. What happened to my red sundress? I could have sworn I put on a red sundress. I blink again, shaking my head, and there it is, my pretty dress, the last one Papa bought me before he vanished. I never believe he left, not for a second, but I know he vanished. Why else would he not have contacted me?

It's a question no one can answer.

The colors were still hiding and even the street looked more sad...the walls, before a pristine white flashing against the pale colors of the roofs. Even in it's darkness, it's pretty. Mary Jane wore plain clothes. I blink again, and that's when it happened.

I saw him

.

He was striding down the street, a vacant look in his eyes, like he was thinking hard about something. Colors erupted around him, so beautiful and bright. I point him out to Mary Jane, who's own color has increased with his presence. Her blush is fuller, her dark skin more smooth, more perfect, more American-Indian; she inherited her mother's paleness, a shame; if she embraced the color of Nature, as I have, she really could be beautiful. But she didn't, so she wasn't. It was that simple.

He was walking towards me, his black hair dancing in the wind, but it had streaks of grey in it, the perfect amount to match his age; mid fifties, maybe late forties, no younger. Then he would be far too old. Behind him was a boy younger than me, he was maybe 12, but he looked enough like the man for me to know; they were related. I was sad, just for a moment, but not for long.

"Mary Jane, do you see him?" I whispered in her ear as we stopped to window shop, right in his path.

She glanced in his direction, her grey eyes looking him over. "Yes, hon, I do. Should I not?"

"You should, because it means I'm right!" I was excited now; it was finally happening, my fantasy.

"What are you right about now, hon?" She was starring at a bridal dress, one with an ugly veil that would hide too much of her, and the sleeves looked like they were sewed by monkeys. What is it about ugly dresses these days?

"Papa," I whispered. I took a step towards him. He was window shopping at a hunting store. "I am going to him."

Mary Jane looked up immediately, staring at me in those disbelieving eyes. She shouted something that went to mute ears; I was so close to him now.

"Hello, Papa," I whispered, holding my hands open for a hug. He was back, he was finally back, and I was in his

dress, and I was ready to let him into my life.

"I do believe you are mistaken, child," Papa said, his eyes unusually hard. I blinked at him, still smiling, and waves of blond hair winked back at me, color gone.

"Freddie?" I whispered again, staring at him in awe. How could I mistake him for Papa; they looked nothing alike.

"No. Should I get you help, little one?" I blink and now he has red-hair. It changes, it keeps changing, black, blond, black, red, blond, black. This is torture.

"Who are you?" I scream, backing away. I fall into someone's arms. I look up to see Mary Jane's worried face; she's wearing a white dress. What was happening?

"Come with me, just follow me, listen to my voice, it's not Papa or Freddie, they will come soon, they are waiting for you, just come with me, please, come with me." Her voice is smooth, gentle.

I follow her, because I'm scarred and I don't know what to do. I walk away from the man, and I'm in a car. My mother sits in front of me, weeping; when did she get here?

"Mother?" I ask with too much tentativeness; I was worried she too would change.

She smiled, patting my hand. I don't like it. "Yes, my dear, it's mother."

"I saw Papa, and Freddie." I say, proud. "Freddie is home again on leave."

Mother sighed. "They aren't coming back, hon."

I blink. Mother is older now, but still mother. "What?"

"Freddie died in Vietnam, honey, and Papa...Papa left us when Freddie enlisted. He has a new wife and children now."

I am quiet, realizing the truth in her words. "Where are we going?"

She sighs. "I'm going home, your staying in...in a hotel."

I look at her. "A hotel?"

She gives a sad smile. "Yes, angel, a hotel, where they will take care of you, and I will be by to visit you tomorrow."

I nod, growing tired. I listen to the voices in my head before I go to sleep.

"You do look like her mother, Rachel." This was Mary Jane's voice in my head. She sounds less stressed.

"But my sister, my freaking sister, can't tell the difference! She can't remember mother died when she was a baby!" Fake-Mother said. She was crying.

"You know how weak she is. She inherited her mother's illness."

"I guess I should be proud of Papa's genes, shouldn't I?"

"At least you are here for her."

A sigh. So pretty...

"She won't remember today, will she?"

"No. She never does."

"She remembers Mary Jane...Freddie's fiance. She remembers shopping for dresses."

Mary Jane sighs. "The day of the accident will be her most vivid memory. She may relive it for the rest of her life. But she seems to be blocking the-"

"Please

."

"-gun. And the man. She remembers her father and her brother. There is hope."

Another pretty sigh. "Not much, not anymore."

A pause.

"Do you know what she drew? On her good day?" Mary Jane again.

"What?"

"Her family portrait. Her art skills are coming back."

Another pause.

"But that's what nearly killed her in the first place."

Publication Date: 04-16-2012

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