Short Story's

colours

To be honest I had no reason to be like this. I just hated it, I hated everyone I hated everything  I hate this world and the people around me. I have a tragic backstop and an everlasting hate for everyone on this earth. I was born born into a world where nothing in my eyes had colour;just a feeling of grey. Everything was as if a fog had drenched itself over my very own eyes and gave me an incomprehensible feeling of dread and sorrow. All saw was grey...everything was great. I came home one day as my father and mother argued, my dad got a little put of hand from his constant abuse of alcohol and struck my mother across the head with a bottle, a loud crack erupting as it broke over her head. And there I saw it;a beautiful colour,a colour. I couldn't describe it, it was a warm and comforting colour. I had to see it more so I took a shard from the floor and cut and stabbed,and slashed the only ones who ever gave me a sense of happiness out of desperation to see more of that wonderful colour. The more I struck the more of the colour I saw it was magnificent. I watched as the colour went away. I hated it. I wanted to see more of the colour, so I went to find more and more and more and more,until nothing in the world was grey anymore, seeing what my hatred could so was amazing. I needed...more...colour.