The Bright Colours of Misery [COMPLETED]

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝚆𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚈-𝙵𝙸𝚅𝙴 burn the money, read the books

"A novel." He answered. The teacher smiled.

"You could say so, yes." She approved. "Does anyone know the definition of a novel?"

The class went terrifyingly quiet, and she waited patiently, but eventually she had to give the answer. She grabbed a piece of chalk and wrote:

Novel: A fictional prose narrative of considerable length.

Heidi couldn't see it at all, it was just this line of white on the dark green board. She looked over at Tilda.

"What does it say?" she whispered to her, after a whole lot of conflicted thoughts about asking for help. The blond girl slowly read the sentence then whispered it back to heidi.

'Danke." Heidi thanked, and Tilda only smiled, happy to be of help.

"Does everyone understand the word 'fiction'?" Gertude asked when everyone had written the definition down. They all slowly nodded, frau huber had actually taught them a few things, believe it or not.

"Good, very good, and 'prose narrative'?"

Every child shook their head, some mumbled a weak nein. The brown haired woman nodded, and then began explaining.

Heidi saw the glimmer in her eyes that indicated she had a passion for what she was talking about and she was laughing with her warm voice and emphasising what needed to be dramatic. She made reading seem lively to children that had thought it to be just as boring as watching a clock tic. It was incredible, and Heidi knew her year wasn't doomed after all, it had actually been blessed, saved by this wonderful woman.

Gertrude defined more than twenty words that the students had never heard of before in one day, Tilda dicted them all to Heidi without question, so everyone wrote them down.

The dark haired woman would often ask her students before giving the answer, keeping the class animated. I don't think anyone got bored, not even for a minute.

Alexander got an applaud for knowing what a play and a screenplay was and explaining it perfectly. He would never forget it.

Along with making her students happy and eager for literary knowledge Gertrude even managed to make maths interesting when most hated it with all their might.

September 1936  slowly turned into October, leaves had now started falling onto the streets, covering their stone surfaces. Heidi missed out on making many wonderful paintings because of school hours, but she didn't mind it anymore, she loved school.

Although many things remained difficult or near impossible, like reading anything, she felt she was always helped. Tilda would whisper the assignments for her and The teacher would always be understanding of her issues even if sometimes her face revealed a lot of concern that I believe was  justified. Of course Heidi couldn't see the faces she would make, but she could hear the silence; feel it even deep in her bones, she could sense the tension, see the change of her mannerism. It made my human sad, perhaps more than it should have, but I understood that she didn't want pity.

On a cold and rainy day, in mid October, The teacher pulled her aside after class, she wanted to talk to her. Heidi had told Alexander not to wait for her in case it would take a while.

"I think, or rather, I hope you know you aren't in trouble, dear Heidi." She started, gently gesturing for her to sit down in front of her desk.

"I was hoping you would say that," Heidi admitted, looking down at her hands, lacing them together and fiddling with her fingers. Gertrude smiled and nodded.

"I just wanted to talk to you about the fact you cannot read on your own." She started. "I know your situation, Heidi. We all know about it."

Heidi slowly nodded, turning red. She hated this 'issue' so much. She was embarrassed by it. "I'm sorry.' She whispered.