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Colourless Blues
Depression can’t hide from certain eyes.
Johnny could see the effects already, as he swept his gaze across the rest of the class. Some students burst with colour. Some were muted, but still hanging in there. One was empty.
Johnny no longer told anyone what he saw. Between the voices he could hear and the smells he couldn’t describe and the things he swore he touched even though no one else found anything there, they thought he was mad enough already.
Class ended. He packed his bag, staring at the one empty soul. Now, how exactly did you go about mentioning this? “Excuse me, I notice you have no colours today” lacked a certain something.
But he wanted to tell her.
So Johnny fumbled with his bag. Being the last two, he fell into place alongside her, who shuffled out with all the zip and zing of a robot mourning its maker.
He leaned over and whispered, “If you ever wanna talk, I’m here.”
Nothing.
Johnny waited for anything to happen, then broke off and left her. He’d known Kelly since kindergarten, long enough to tell what she clearly wanted.
That evening, Johnny walked home by himself. Nothing unusual (for him) happened; just a couple of ghosts, an earthquake that affected nothing else, and a crow that kept muttering curses over him.
He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d started noticing stuff like this, or even if it had started; for all he knew, he might have been born weird. It definitely made him popular in kindergarten, when everyone had assumed his imagination was top-notch, and then unpopular thereafter, when everyone realized he was serious.
Johnny kicked a stone across the street. Thinking.
He was still thinking over dinner, when the rest of his family talked on and on about football and the weather and football and Aunt Millie and football and the TV and football. They didn’t talk to him, exactly. They just talked around him, hoping he’d get the hint and chat like a normal person.
In his bedroom, he never played video games. It was hard to kill Nazi soldiers in 3D when you heard their screams and saw them die far more realistically than the graphics should account for.
He’d invited Kelly over to play once. She’d clutched her head at the screams which he’d manfully tried to ignore.
Then they’d gotten ice lollies. His had tasted like Mozart; hers, Beethoven.
Shaking off the memories, Johnny turned to his maths homework. He got every answer right, without in any way actually knowing how to work them out.
He ducked out the window. Fortunately, a freak gust of wind cushioned his fall, right on schedule.
Johnny waited at the park. One lantern light glowed over him; the will-o’-the-wisp attached to it was harmless company, if a little dreary from being overlooked the rest of the time.
Johnny looked around.
“Hyo!” he said with false cheeriness. “Wanna go hunting werewolves again? They promise they won’t run very fast tonight.”
Kelly was suddenly there, as colourless as ever. Her face shone damply.
“Mom says I can’t,” she murmured.
Johnny frowned. “So?”
“She knows about me sneaking out. She says I can’t do it anymore. She says I’m going to be a woman, so it’s time to put away childish things.”
“I don’t get it.”
“This is the last time I can see you. She’ll know.”
“You want to be a woman?”
“No.”
“Well, then, don’t be one,” said Johnny, who hadn’t had certain things explained to him.
“I want to be one.” She didn’t look him in the eye. “I’m sorry. If it’s time, then it’s time.”
“Huh?”
“It’s been fun, Johnny.” And then she turned around and just… vanished.
Johnny stared at the spot for a long time, but then old habits of thought kicked in. He shrugged it off. What would it matter, after all? She’d clearly been lying. She’d change her mind.
She wasn’t in school the day after.
Johnny stared at the empty chair.
He’d pestered his mother until she’d explained it to him. Kelly’s parents had decided to move, for reasons that didn’t make sense to him. Judging from his mother’s expression, though, he had been an unspoken reason. Yet she didn’t tell him where they’d gone.
Without Kelly as company or distraction, Johnny slumped on his chair. He could hear his classmates’ thoughts unimpeded.
When he looked down, he saw the colour slowly draining out of his flesh.
Johnny could see the effects already, as he swept his gaze across the rest of the class. Some students burst with colour. Some were muted, but still hanging in there. One was empty.
Johnny no longer told anyone what he saw. Between the voices he could hear and the smells he couldn’t describe and the things he swore he touched even though no one else found anything there, they thought he was mad enough already.
Class ended. He packed his bag, staring at the one empty soul. Now, how exactly did you go about mentioning this? “Excuse me, I notice you have no colours today” lacked a certain something.
But he wanted to tell her.
So Johnny fumbled with his bag. Being the last two, he fell into place alongside her, who shuffled out with all the zip and zing of a robot mourning its maker.
He leaned over and whispered, “If you ever wanna talk, I’m here.”
Nothing.
Johnny waited for anything to happen, then broke off and left her. He’d known Kelly since kindergarten, long enough to tell what she clearly wanted.
That evening, Johnny walked home by himself. Nothing unusual (for him) happened; just a couple of ghosts, an earthquake that affected nothing else, and a crow that kept muttering curses over him.
He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d started noticing stuff like this, or even if it had started; for all he knew, he might have been born weird. It definitely made him popular in kindergarten, when everyone had assumed his imagination was top-notch, and then unpopular thereafter, when everyone realized he was serious.
Johnny kicked a stone across the street. Thinking.
He was still thinking over dinner, when the rest of his family talked on and on about football and the weather and football and Aunt Millie and football and the TV and football. They didn’t talk to him, exactly. They just talked around him, hoping he’d get the hint and chat like a normal person.
In his bedroom, he never played video games. It was hard to kill Nazi soldiers in 3D when you heard their screams and saw them die far more realistically than the graphics should account for.
He’d invited Kelly over to play once. She’d clutched her head at the screams which he’d manfully tried to ignore.
Then they’d gotten ice lollies. His had tasted like Mozart; hers, Beethoven.
Shaking off the memories, Johnny turned to his maths homework. He got every answer right, without in any way actually knowing how to work them out.
He ducked out the window. Fortunately, a freak gust of wind cushioned his fall, right on schedule.
Johnny waited at the park. One lantern light glowed over him; the will-o’-the-wisp attached to it was harmless company, if a little dreary from being overlooked the rest of the time.
Johnny looked around.
“Hyo!” he said with false cheeriness. “Wanna go hunting werewolves again? They promise they won’t run very fast tonight.”
Kelly was suddenly there, as colourless as ever. Her face shone damply.
“Mom says I can’t,” she murmured.
Johnny frowned. “So?”
“She knows about me sneaking out. She says I can’t do it anymore. She says I’m going to be a woman, so it’s time to put away childish things.”
“I don’t get it.”
“This is the last time I can see you. She’ll know.”
“You want to be a woman?”
“No.”
“Well, then, don’t be one,” said Johnny, who hadn’t had certain things explained to him.
“I want to be one.” She didn’t look him in the eye. “I’m sorry. If it’s time, then it’s time.”
“Huh?”
“It’s been fun, Johnny.” And then she turned around and just… vanished.
Johnny stared at the spot for a long time, but then old habits of thought kicked in. He shrugged it off. What would it matter, after all? She’d clearly been lying. She’d change her mind.
She wasn’t in school the day after.
Johnny stared at the empty chair.
He’d pestered his mother until she’d explained it to him. Kelly’s parents had decided to move, for reasons that didn’t make sense to him. Judging from his mother’s expression, though, he had been an unspoken reason. Yet she didn’t tell him where they’d gone.
Without Kelly as company or distraction, Johnny slumped on his chair. He could hear his classmates’ thoughts unimpeded.
When he looked down, he saw the colour slowly draining out of his flesh.
Pics
This one reminds me a lot of The Sixth Sense. I don’t know what to think. I don’t really understand if the girl is living or dead, or what happens to her. There seems to be two different arcs interwoven: the “medium” boy and his friend who’s doomed to grow up, but I can’t really tell how they relate. It’s muddled.
Overall, it’s not bad, and I appreciate the gloomy atmosphere. But it’s really too confused for me. Don’t take it personally: I’m a dope.
Overall, it’s not bad, and I appreciate the gloomy atmosphere. But it’s really too confused for me. Don’t take it personally: I’m a dope.
Your Story's Theme Song: Tobias Jesso Jr. - For You
First off, neat title is neat.
Second, like >>Monokeras before me, I found myself questioning a lot of what this story had to offer and, in one of my read-throughs, ended up becoming a little bit frustrated with everything that was going on. It's when I shifted my focus not on figuring out everything that's happening and scaled myself back a little that the story sorta... clicked, you could say.
We have Johnny, an intelligent, innocent yet pretty presumptuous kid with quite the imagination. We have his perspective, and oh boy, was it quite the perspective. Really, it's those little lines such as 'Some students burst with colour. Some were muted, but still hanging in there' and 'His had tasted like Mozart; hers, Beethoven' that make the story for me.
As for Kelly, I perceived her as Johnny's imaginary friend, though I honestly don't think whoever or whatever Kelly was really doesn't affect my overall impression of the story. She may be a real girl, she may be a ghost, but I feel it's Kelly's relation to Johnny—the strong, singular tether to his colorful imagination—that really makes the story for what it is. After all, Johnny clearly knew her 'long enough to tell what she clearly wanted.' She mattered to Johnny, that's what's important, and the hints of their bubbly relationship in between the lines left me with a smile on my face.
In the end, I think this is a decently put together coming of age story that focuses its lens on this one vibrant kid that eventually becomes too weird for the rest of the world to handle. It's nothing too amazing or special, but it set out to do what it had to do and made me sympathize with the kid. To that, dear author, I salute you!
Thanks for writing!
First off, neat title is neat.
Second, like >>Monokeras before me, I found myself questioning a lot of what this story had to offer and, in one of my read-throughs, ended up becoming a little bit frustrated with everything that was going on. It's when I shifted my focus not on figuring out everything that's happening and scaled myself back a little that the story sorta... clicked, you could say.
We have Johnny, an intelligent, innocent yet pretty presumptuous kid with quite the imagination. We have his perspective, and oh boy, was it quite the perspective. Really, it's those little lines such as 'Some students burst with colour. Some were muted, but still hanging in there' and 'His had tasted like Mozart; hers, Beethoven' that make the story for me.
As for Kelly, I perceived her as Johnny's imaginary friend, though I honestly don't think whoever or whatever Kelly was really doesn't affect my overall impression of the story. She may be a real girl, she may be a ghost, but I feel it's Kelly's relation to Johnny—the strong, singular tether to his colorful imagination—that really makes the story for what it is. After all, Johnny clearly knew her 'long enough to tell what she clearly wanted.' She mattered to Johnny, that's what's important, and the hints of their bubbly relationship in between the lines left me with a smile on my face.
In the end, I think this is a decently put together coming of age story that focuses its lens on this one vibrant kid that eventually becomes too weird for the rest of the world to handle. It's nothing too amazing or special, but it set out to do what it had to do and made me sympathize with the kid. To that, dear author, I salute you!
Thanks for writing!
Alternate Title: The Boy in the Rainbow Pajamas
You know, author, you could've made this story really boring. Like a typical coming-of-age story so banal as to be insufferable. You could given us all a bad time and I'd have to be my usual bitchy self.
But you know what? I really dig this, man.
It's not the premise itself that gets to me, because if you take away the eccentricities of the writing this would be a far more standard kind narrative, and Johnny would be a blander protagonist. But it's the little things here that elevate it, little cadences in the prose, how things are mostly described and not told.
For instance, I like how we can gather what kind of family Johnny belongs to, just by how their evening routine is laid out. It also took me a moment to realize they probably watch soccer and not American football, since this entry is written in a very British (but not snooty) way. We also get a reference to Nazi Zombies (I think?) without it seeming like an obnoxious sign-of-the-times thing. It also helps that the particular game being referenced is relevant in how it exhibits Johnny's condition.
As for the girl... I think she's imaginary. I see this story as being ultimately more metaphorical than literal, and Kelly's existence and relationship with Johnny seems to reaffirm this.
Johnny himself is a fairly well-developed kid character, and even though he's clearly based on an archetype I find him more empathetic and endearing than most; he's not just sad because that becomes his role in life.
The thing with the colors confused me at first, because I didn't know if this was going to be like a supernatural horror tale or what have you, but it's actually a deeply sad coming-of-age story. We're never told Johnny's age, but I can safely guess he's on the cusp of becoming a teenager, maybe ten or eleven years old. And growing up sucks in some ways, man.
The fact that we're shown all this in quick bursts is impressive on its own, considering most minifics are one scene (maybe two) long and it requires some seriously economical thinking with words to make these lightning-fast scenes work.
But they do, and so does this entry as a whole.
I really like it, okay?
Although I swear if Miller Minus wrote it I'm gonna shit a brick.
You know, author, you could've made this story really boring. Like a typical coming-of-age story so banal as to be insufferable. You could given us all a bad time and I'd have to be my usual bitchy self.
But you know what? I really dig this, man.
It's not the premise itself that gets to me, because if you take away the eccentricities of the writing this would be a far more standard kind narrative, and Johnny would be a blander protagonist. But it's the little things here that elevate it, little cadences in the prose, how things are mostly described and not told.
For instance, I like how we can gather what kind of family Johnny belongs to, just by how their evening routine is laid out. It also took me a moment to realize they probably watch soccer and not American football, since this entry is written in a very British (but not snooty) way. We also get a reference to Nazi Zombies (I think?) without it seeming like an obnoxious sign-of-the-times thing. It also helps that the particular game being referenced is relevant in how it exhibits Johnny's condition.
As for the girl... I think she's imaginary. I see this story as being ultimately more metaphorical than literal, and Kelly's existence and relationship with Johnny seems to reaffirm this.
Johnny himself is a fairly well-developed kid character, and even though he's clearly based on an archetype I find him more empathetic and endearing than most; he's not just sad because that becomes his role in life.
The thing with the colors confused me at first, because I didn't know if this was going to be like a supernatural horror tale or what have you, but it's actually a deeply sad coming-of-age story. We're never told Johnny's age, but I can safely guess he's on the cusp of becoming a teenager, maybe ten or eleven years old. And growing up sucks in some ways, man.
The fact that we're shown all this in quick bursts is impressive on its own, considering most minifics are one scene (maybe two) long and it requires some seriously economical thinking with words to make these lightning-fast scenes work.
But they do, and so does this entry as a whole.
I really like it, okay?
Although I swear if Miller Minus wrote it I'm gonna shit a brick.
This'll go:
In the top half of my slate on the strength of the writing alone, but that all I got from it. I haven't a clue as to what's happening except that unhappy Johnny gets unhappier...
Mike
In the top half of my slate on the strength of the writing alone, but that all I got from it. I haven't a clue as to what's happening except that unhappy Johnny gets unhappier...
Mike
Evocative and succinct. This is the first story on my finals slate, but it'll be hard to beat.
Normally, when a minific story is good, I say "I'd love to see a longer version of this!" But that's not the case here. This story is exactly long enough to do what it means to do. It gives us a snapshot of this strange boy's life and leaves us wondering if he's psychic, crazy, or just deeply imaginative. Superb use of the available length.
Normally, when a minific story is good, I say "I'd love to see a longer version of this!" But that's not the case here. This story is exactly long enough to do what it means to do. It gives us a snapshot of this strange boy's life and leaves us wondering if he's psychic, crazy, or just deeply imaginative. Superb use of the available length.
Hi, Author. I'm your dissenting opinion. But don't worry, there's good news at the end of this.
This is an excellently written story, and I wasn't going to say anything about it at first, but I have a major hang-up with the message this story delivers that I want to bring up. But before I do that, I have to say, I'm interpreting this story completely differently from everyone else.
I mean, am I the only one who thinks that Johnny is a shitty friend? Because nobody is talking about this.
For real, check out these lines:
True, this looks bad when you take it out of context, but even in context, it's still a blatant disregard for her feelings. And keep in mind, this line is the final line in the first scene, and the writing here is proficient enough that the Author is likely drawing our attention to it intentionally.
What an awful thing to think about a friend.
"Certain things"—possibly meaning the physical changes involved in female puberty, but since the theme of this scene is "growing up" in general (putting away childish things, etc.), I'm thinking he's also not been told that he needs to grow up at some point. I'm going to come back to this one.
Yes, go into denial. It couldn't be your failure to listen to a single word she's saying.
Her parents think he's a bad influence, which is what's driving the conflict here. Given his childish attitude, it's not too surprising.
All of these points from the story hammer one thing home for me: Johnny doesn't understand that Kelly has a life outside of hanging out with him. He's completely self-centered. But that makes him a great child character. Children are assholes! You might even say that "they haven't had certain things explained to them."
On my second readthrough of this story, I assumed that Johnny was an unreliable narrator through and through, and everything fell into place. His thicker-than-a-brick-wall attitude that he shows towards Kelly starts to show up in other places too. He sees depression when it isn't there. He imagines ghosts and earthquakes and colours reflecting from peoples' skin. He thinks he has "special powers" that other people don't.
My interpretation of this story is that it's about a kid who lives entirely inside his own head—to the point where he believes his own imagination is real—and this attitude has led him, unsurprisingly, to lose his only friend.
My big hang-up with this, though, is that he's just a kid. Of course he doesn't understand how to be a good friend. Of course he's imaginative. Of course he has trouble growing up. My problem is that the story seems to be punishing him for not knowing these things, to the point where there isn't a single external force in his life trying to teach him what he's doing wrong. It's like watching an old man trying desperately to learn how to read—tears streaming down his face—with nothing but a three-item grocery list to learn from. And nobody is helping him.
And in that way, I agree with Baal wholeheartedly. This story, when you peel away the imaginative fluff, is just about sad Johnny getting sadder. I feel like I just watched a child get punished for not understanding how to be an adult. There's no character arc—it's more like a line, trending straight down down to rock bottom, with nothing learned or gained, and through no fault of his own. And that is the biggest downer I've ever read in the writeoff.
But goddamnit, Author. If my interpretation is correct, and you set out to write a story that was such a supreme downer on so many levels, then you succeeded outright. I may not be leaving this story very happy, and I may be wishing there had been someone, something, helping this poor kid learn from his mistakes, but I can't reasonably say you deserve to be lower than the top-two on my slate, because I've thought about this entry more than any other. It's shooting up my slate in finals. I don't think my vote would have mattered anyways, but fair's fair, you did what you set out to do. So well done.
This is an excellently written story, and I wasn't going to say anything about it at first, but I have a major hang-up with the message this story delivers that I want to bring up. But before I do that, I have to say, I'm interpreting this story completely differently from everyone else.
I mean, am I the only one who thinks that Johnny is a shitty friend? Because nobody is talking about this.
For real, check out these lines:
He’d known Kelly since kindergarten, long enough to tell what she clearly wanted.
True, this looks bad when you take it out of context, but even in context, it's still a blatant disregard for her feelings. And keep in mind, this line is the final line in the first scene, and the writing here is proficient enough that the Author is likely drawing our attention to it intentionally.
What an awful thing to think about a friend.
“You want to be a woman?”
“No.”
“Well, then, don’t be one,” said Johnny, who hadn’t had certain things explained to him.
"Certain things"—possibly meaning the physical changes involved in female puberty, but since the theme of this scene is "growing up" in general (putting away childish things, etc.), I'm thinking he's also not been told that he needs to grow up at some point. I'm going to come back to this one.
He shrugged it off. What would it matter, after all? She’d clearly been lying. She’d change her mind.
Yes, go into denial. It couldn't be your failure to listen to a single word she's saying.
Kelly’s parents had decided to move, for reasons that didn’t make sense to him. Judging from his mother’s expression, though, he had been an unspoken reason.
Her parents think he's a bad influence, which is what's driving the conflict here. Given his childish attitude, it's not too surprising.
All of these points from the story hammer one thing home for me: Johnny doesn't understand that Kelly has a life outside of hanging out with him. He's completely self-centered. But that makes him a great child character. Children are assholes! You might even say that "they haven't had certain things explained to them."
On my second readthrough of this story, I assumed that Johnny was an unreliable narrator through and through, and everything fell into place. His thicker-than-a-brick-wall attitude that he shows towards Kelly starts to show up in other places too. He sees depression when it isn't there. He imagines ghosts and earthquakes and colours reflecting from peoples' skin. He thinks he has "special powers" that other people don't.
My interpretation of this story is that it's about a kid who lives entirely inside his own head—to the point where he believes his own imagination is real—and this attitude has led him, unsurprisingly, to lose his only friend.
My big hang-up with this, though, is that he's just a kid. Of course he doesn't understand how to be a good friend. Of course he's imaginative. Of course he has trouble growing up. My problem is that the story seems to be punishing him for not knowing these things, to the point where there isn't a single external force in his life trying to teach him what he's doing wrong. It's like watching an old man trying desperately to learn how to read—tears streaming down his face—with nothing but a three-item grocery list to learn from. And nobody is helping him.
And in that way, I agree with Baal wholeheartedly. This story, when you peel away the imaginative fluff, is just about sad Johnny getting sadder. I feel like I just watched a child get punished for not understanding how to be an adult. There's no character arc—it's more like a line, trending straight down down to rock bottom, with nothing learned or gained, and through no fault of his own. And that is the biggest downer I've ever read in the writeoff.
>>Miller Minus
I'm revisiting that last paragraph. I shouldn't be saying that my ranking is based on "if my interpretation is correct", because I could be wrong. The point is:
1. This story is meant to be a downer
2. My interpretation is a downer
3. Whether or not my interpretation is what the author intended, the emotion the author wanted to convey came across really strongly for me, and since my interpretation is all I've got, I might as well rank accordingly.
Also, thanks for writing! Forgot to say that the first time.
I'm revisiting that last paragraph. I shouldn't be saying that my ranking is based on "if my interpretation is correct", because I could be wrong. The point is:
1. This story is meant to be a downer
2. My interpretation is a downer
3. Whether or not my interpretation is what the author intended, the emotion the author wanted to convey came across really strongly for me, and since my interpretation is all I've got, I might as well rank accordingly.
Also, thanks for writing! Forgot to say that the first time.