Blue

This amazing short story was created by one of my closest friends who doesn't have a Wattpad account, all credits to her, I just enjoyed the story so much that I wanted to post it up.

Enjoy!!!!

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I'm falling. Falling so far. I can't breath. I can't see. I can't even hear my own screams. The tears stream down my face. I can't even raise my hands to wipe them away. I'm being dragged down. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. It's all too much. I let my world go dark.

"Pain isn't what you expect. It isn't Burning Red. It isn't Bruised Purple. It isn't White. It isn't even Black. No pain has a very different colour. Pain is Blue. At least my pain is Blue. Not a pretty Baby Blue, my pain isn't even an "I'm crying" Blue. My pain is so much darker.

My therapist said it would help to write about myself, what happens to me. How I'm feeling. I don't think it will make a difference, everything I see is Blue, I don't think anything will be able to change that, will be able to make it Razzmatazz. That's my favourite colour. Razzmatazz. It's a beautiful reddy pinky colour. It's a happy colour. I don't think anything could change my world from Blue to Razzmatazz, but Mandy, my therapist, says I should so here I go. A last favour to her.

My name is Willow. Willow Grace Grey. I have big Blue-Grey eyes, framed with thick black lashes.

I have long black hair, all the way down to the bottom of my spine. I am about 5'3, 5'4, with dainty little hands and feet. I can't sing. I'm very uncoordinated, always tripping over my own feet and walking into things. I do ok at school I guess, but what I really love to do is draw. My drawings are my friends. They all have names and lives. They are the only ones that really like me. They are my friends.

I don't really know what else to say about me. There really isn't anything interesting about me. I'm an only child, an accident my parents decided they should get married for. Like that lasted long! I was barely a year old when they separated, not that I see either of them any more. I think they both try to forget that year and a bit, pretending I never existed.

My grandmother raised me. She tries her best, but I don't think she really knows what to do with me. I'm in yr 11 at school, but I've already been to 20 or so schools. That's pretty impressive right? Wrong. I wish I could have only been to 2, like everyone else. I guess part of the reason I'm not that good at school is because I don't like it there. School is Bluer than anywhere else. School is where people are. And people don't like me. Well, that's not quite true. People like having me around. But not because they like me, because what they do to me is fun, for them. Apparently bullying is fun.

I've always been bullied; as far back as I can remember. I didn't know what it was when I was little of course. I would go through a year or even two without having to move schools in primary school, a year or two before my grandmother would move me. I only had 7 different primary schools; I have had 13 different high schools, so far. But I think this school will be the last.

Everyone I've met has either bullied me or ignored me. I guess I've gotten use to it. I wear dark colours to blend into the background, I always wear a jumper, I try to hide as much as possible. If you are hiding then the people who would have ignored you anyway will go on ignoring and maybe, just maybe, the bullies won't see you. I said I always wear a jumper, but I guess that isn't really to blend into the background, in fact it makes me stick out in summer. I wear a jumper to hide my scars. That's what my arms are full of. Scars. And new cuts as well. Angel always hated my new cuts, they made, no, make her so sad. Sorry bout the blood on the page... My arm is stinging, but that's the point of cutting. It changes the pain from Blue to Red and if you cut deep enough it might even turn it White. If only for a little while, Red is still one step closer to Razzmatazz.