Creative Colours

Written in response to

Another way, having to live in a world where the colour bleached slowly in front of my eyes. One day, having beauty in glorious hues, the next. Every day different. Patches of grey, like little flies I couldn’t get rid of. The next, larger, my peripheral vision without substance.

It was like newspaper being turned into paper Mache. Pulled into a ball so tight, I couldn’t unravel the sense of it. Now, in the middle of the woodlands, all that was left was the sounds of the woodland.

Another day, I knelt down, the dry leaves crumbling though my fingers.

I called his name. ‘Merlin!, here boy.’

Without hesitation my guide dog was by my side. He deserved his freedom, because he always gave me mine. I could continue being a reporter, able to go into dangerous situations, without fear of reprisal. Trust, in those around me, had been lost. Barbara, or Debs, another face in my brother’s photograph. Richard, someone, who was there, a person I thought would catch me if I fell.

Neither did, all betrayed me.

Not Merlin though, and my choice to stay in my job, was an easy one.

Published by writerravenclaw

I am a fifty something mother of two grown up children, and one beautiful grandchild. I have been married for nearly thirty-four years. My first book was published ten years ago. I wrote my book Sticks and Stones because of my experience of being bullied at school.

9 thoughts on “Creative Colours

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