Chapter One

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((Warning: short chapters!))

Another day passed by.

I still didn't see any other colour but the colour of grass.

The colour everyone else called green.

I've never seen the colour of the sky, the colour of the trees, the flowers, the colour of chocolate milk and the colour of my own eyes.

I have only ever seen that specific colour.

The colour of grass.

It was a beautiful colour. It was the colour I gave almost everything, but I never got tired of it.

I will always remember the day my brother told me how beautiful the sky is.

My brother, who now is six feet underground.

I miss him.

I wish I'd found my soulmate before, but I still hadn't.

I still couldn't see any other colour but the colour of grass.

A sigh escaped my mouth as I passed by the same, old block, entered the same, old street, and parked my car in the same, old lawn I'd been parking it in for the past twenty-five years. It was time for me to move again.

I opened the green door, the only colour I saw in the street of an object that was not grass.

Then I noticed the house next to me wasn't for sale anymore. It said, 'sold', and it was entirely empty, I noticed upon looking inside.

My neighbours had already moved out.

I sighed, I knew it. They didn't really like me, they wouldn't tell me goodbye. They envied me, for they grew older, and their hair turned gray (or so they told me, it always had been to me) and they got wrinkles, whereas I stayed young and 'pretty' and 'unflawed' (nothing was less true, I was not unflawed, not at all). I just hoped I wouldn't stay this way forever. I didn't want to.

I started thinking about my new neighbour. What would they look like? Would they be alone, or with a friend, or with their soulmate? Would there be a family or just a couple or just one person? Would they be like me? No, they wouldn't. Would they like me? How old would they be? Would they have found their soulmate yet?

I entered my home and closed the door, quietly walking over to my laptop, sitting down in front of it and turning it on.

I was going to continue my Hungarian course now and no one would stop me.

I know tons of languages. Too much time of being alive drove me to learn more and more until I knew them all.

Hungarian was the ninth language I learned. I natively spoke English. Due to moving to French Canada before school, I also speak French fluently. That was the first language I learned.

Then I learned German, Italian, Spanish, Polish, Russian, Dutch, Japanese and then, Hungarian.

And how I learned to love languages, oh dear - I began burying my sorrow in languages. I translated books for a living, into all the languages I knew, from all the languages I knew into English, I worked so many hours, but I needed the money.

Languages weren't a way of communication to me any longer. Languages had become living beings, a source of comfort and love in my lonely, black-and-white life, with only the colour of grass.

The beautiful colour of grass.

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