They saw the world in colours; strokes of fiery red, blemishes of bright azure, glimpses of green so soft it could be tangible. There was no end to the array, no end to the feast their eyes devoured hungrily, almost desperately if you may, and no end consequently to their quench, their foolish desire to see more of the orange glow and the sunny splash of sordid hues. Almost predictably the colours brought with them a torrent of human emotions that left inhuman scars, lining their skin and soul scarlet.
Anger was a shattering red and so was love, peace was white and harmony was a distant orange. And then there was fear, and then, right there, it all went black; a deep void of endless turmoil. A black so piercingly dark, it left the colour’s originality ashamed. The black weaved its web all across their fretful hearts and spread its tentacles right through their numb minds. It gripped them in its painful grip, rendering their courage useless, their strength powerless and their aspirations pathless. The black, the fear, clenched their sanity so intensely that all the sensibility leaked right out of their trapped thoughts. Fear didn’t leave a scar it left a bullet hole through and through. It was a clever, treacherous adversary which had no decency, respected no law or convention, which showed no mercy.
If fear was black, devoid of sparks of colours, hope on the other hand was a spectrum of all. It ignited a fire in them that burned so bright it was insensibly and quite ridiculously difficult to extinguish. It gave them an emotional high like none other, lifted their spirits to the point of soaring until reality brought them crashing on the ground and disappointment further buried them underground. And right there amidst all the crushed hopes, a seed of fear sowed itself, the outcome of all those disappointments. It was a viscous cycle and pretty brutally, the former was just the better of the two evils.
Silence was not quiet or calm, and it was not peace. Hope was not always light and it was a face of fear itself.