[THIS ENTRY IS JUST AN ARTICLE I WROTE FOR A CONTEST AND I WOULD LIKE TO SHARE IT WITH YOU GUYS ^___^]

That city was once a bustling city… but that was a very long time ago. Just like all the other kids at his age, he also has many frequently-asked-questions of this and that inside his head. What did he do until he deserves such cruel punishment? Was he a bad boy in his past life? And on top of all, who should he blame for all this painful things he had to face?

Those questions were never answered. Or maybe… because he simply does not know who he should ask to…

Totally paid no heed about the world around him, he was really into his drawings. Scribbling again, here and there, joining lines with one another, forming shapes that only him could understand. The burning heat from the sun slightly hurts his exposed skin. But… who cares about physical pain when you’re already breathless deep inside?

As the colors keep on fading, it’ll turn white. White is lonely…

The boy shifted again. His stomach was grumbling in both hungry and pain, yet a sincere smile never fades from his face. His small fingers keep on moving in full-throttle, drawing countless pointy shapes on the sandy cracked ground; where all you can see is a white and grey; vast, emptiness, eerie, loneliness and nothing but vulnerable bodies lying, hoping for their pains to come to an end. Their will to continue living left them, and that was how they lets go of their last strength with so much regrets. His hair which was never grow tangling in all direction, his petite and small body which was only protected by a thin, ripped, worn oversized shirt looks so weak, yet that smile never once leave his lips. That boy stood up, flattering himself over his masterpiece. With his head facing the broad sky and burning sun, his mouth gawked open as he spoke, “It’s so grey up there. Did the sky leak their tap again?” He muttered under his breath before squatting down to continue his drawing.

Crestfallen, but he didn’t let it take over his rational side. He locked away all those grief inside and throws it to only god-knows-where.

Blue is sadness… like the tears that flows…

He was waiting… In the middle of that deserted mess, he was waiting. No matter how many times the adults tried to tell him to stop hoping, never once he lets the strong faith he kept to shatter. ‘No matter how small my voice is, one day, one way, or another, someone will hear it. And when that day comes… I’ll be the happiest boy in the world.’ That was what he always said to them.

As the time pass, things was getting even harder that the people had to leave. By the time he register the change… everyone had already leave him… alone. But even so, he still refused to stop believing that the day will come; where he can finally succumb the true beauty of life. He believed it… even when he knows that it was useless.

Yellow is emptiness. You can’t even define what you feel or what you want to feel.

Losing the ability to distinguish between sunrise and sunset, clad in those clothes for all he could remember, day and night was just the same for him. Neither the heat from the scorching midday burning sun, nor the coldness which stings to the bone following sunset… he felt nothing. All those miseries, loneliness, pains had stopped hurting him a long time ago. It was scary… To open your eyes when another start, only to be greeted by absolute eerie loneliness and to spend the rest of your day until you close your eyes accompanied by grimacing screams of that lonely heart. The thick quilt of everything but happiness inside that boy’s heart was screaming each second, but to no avail. Because at the end… it vanished into the thin air just like that.

He was tired of shedding tears to let out all of the pent-up emotions and disappointments he kept inside. What kind of disappointments though? Disappointments of life, disappointments of world, disappointments of how things were, disappointments of god…

And on top of all, the disappointments of himself.

The blatant lies the world told him were simply too cruel; irrevocable. It keeps him drowning deep into this dream-like-life, in which, he does not deserve— not even to the slightest bit.

He was alive… but it was strange. ‘No matter how small my voice is, one day, one way, or another, someone will hear it....’ Only those words echoed in his head. Even now, after so many years had passed, he still didn’t understand. It was so painful… Those scars keep on bleeding and bleeding, but numbness is the only thing he can feel.

Your life is engulfed with black… And black is hatred…

What on earth was he waiting for? What was keeping him alive? Anger? An impossible hope…? Or a fallen mortifying faith…? What was it?

That boy was too immersed staring at his drawing until he doesn’t even realize the breeze had stopped blowing. A single tear involuntarily crawling out from the corner of his eyes, crawling through his bronzed cheeks, falling on his shirt; staining it. Will tomorrow be nice?

Intertwining his fingers together, with his face lit upwards, that boy closed his eyes and murmured, “The faith I kept are as thick as the pink and red.” His voice is hoarse and throaty, but doesn’t even sound any less pleasant to one’s ears if they could actually suck up the true meaning behind his words.

Pink is love, red is anger… it is similar, but different in many ways.

Why pink? Why red? Those questions keep running on your head. Pink and red have many commons as much as dissimilarities. How can something be so same, but so different at the same time?

Pink is love. You love what you do, what you eat, who you want, where you were and what you are. While red, in the other hand, means anger. What is there in your heart is hatred, grunge… vengeance. However, pink and red also defined as passion. Passionately hating, or passionately loving. What does he mean by keeping his faith like the pink and red? Does it mean he hates what he did, yet he still keeps doing it because he loves it? So different… yet so same. So contradictive in meaning, yet leads to the same definition.

Just how ironic can a life be?

You believe, you wait… you thought it’ll come true. But orange… is unrequited hope.

And at the end of the day, his voice once again sank into whispers. He falls into that deceiving reverie again. No one hear his screams that yearn for a brighter tomorrow… No one understands… No one come… And no one could see through the fathom… Everyone was blinded by that thin façade. It’s true… No one will look at you twice unless you have something…

The world is stupid, and so were the people. While everyone is grieving over the small thing, that boy was left to face the catastrophe alone, all by himself. Tell me again, people. Just how HARD your life is?

Happiness is a brief thing. It is green… because just like the plants, it’ll die.

The sun slowly setting to the east side of the earth; shyly peeking through the emerald greenish and brownish mountain. Bright shade of crimson red and orange colored the broad sky and as the time passed, a beautiful gradation of purple and dark blue began to take place. Under the blissful starry middle mist, that brunette boy once again lifted his head up, hoping to see a Polaris. But… there was none. Those stars look so dull and gloomy. The dimly lit moon looks so lonely and hazy. Some clouds clogging around them— dark cloud. All he sees is grey again…

He finds it always hard to breathe every time he reminisced those days of glory that had long gone. What is there left for him? The variants of grey he sees are like blaspheming him in such a graceful way. It is okay if he cannot see or understand all those colors and what they screams for. It is okay if he had to live through such pain today or tomorrow.

But at the end, there’s always the purple and violet. Violet is faith, it makes you stronger when you’re about to give up, and purple is hope… it glows giving you a new breath.

Another day ended, another hope crushed, another faith built. The brunette boy stood up from his previous posture and maneuvered his steps under the starry towards a small humble abode he call home. As all the other kids at his age from the other side of the world is probably enjoying some manhwa with their family, that boy limply made his way into the house without anyone to greet him with a warm ‘Welcome home!’. It has been a while ever since he comes home with someone waiting for him. That house was a lot merrier before, before mischief stepped in and snatched away all the happiness from him.

Instead of heading towards the bedroom, he plopped himself on the rusty couch of the living room. A hand on his stomach, lightly caressing it as if he’s trying to soothe down the grumbling sound it emits. It was such a quiet night filled with peaceful and serene— a scenery that a human can never found in the day. Despite all those hurtful blatant lies and false promise the world gave him, that smile never disappear from his face. He laughed at himself for doing such a stupid thing. But yet, he does not regret. Tire slowly claims it spot against him. Those heavy eyelids began to flutter close.

He’s just a boy who tried to find felicity between his pains. He’s just a lost nameless kid who wants to be found. It is okay to dream… right?

Duller color leads to white. Thicker color leads to black. Black plus white, equals to grey. Loneliness plus hatred, equals to pain. At the end, everything is in greyscale again.

Sometimes the pain was just too much that it was a dark grey. Sometimes it was tolerable that it was light grey. Those variants take place differently every day. Though greyscale blocked his view from seeing the colors, he always believes that the rainbow will come out someday. With that, he lets go of the every pains he faced on that day and before; letting the reverie took over while waiting for tomorrow to come with a contented smile on his lips. He believes, tomorrow will come colored.

Such a perfect epitome of joy and life… where in the world can you find it?

It is between the pain and loneliness…

The joy of smiling to overcome a pain. The joy of laughing when you lose. The joy of believing that tomorrow will be good. The colors of joy are yet unseen, but it is always there. Don’t let it fade like a voice that sinks. But let it glow like the rainbow after rain…

Painful things always have to come. The sun will disappear, the gloomy cloud will appear. Storms and thunders scare you along the way. All you can see is grey; absolutely nothing but fright. But, you can’t have a rainbow without a little rain. You can’t paint colors without the canvas.

White is pure, let that pure dreams untainted from a devil called giving up. Blue is heaven, treasure every second of your life because life’s only once. Yellow is sun, let your presence radiates happiness to everyone around you. Black is deep, let your faith be as thick. Red is passion, and passion is the keyword of everything. Pink is love, love what you have rather than hoping for something you don’t have. Orange is endearing, make yourself loved, not hated. Green is happiness; don’t let it die even from the storm. Whenever you feel so weak, believe that the violet faith and purplish hope is always there. Hold on— pain ends, greyscale vanished— tomorrow will come gracefully with colors following each step ;)

What are boys made of? Snips, snails and puppy dogs’ tails.

What are girls made of? Sugar, spice and everything nice.