guest

This is a little story I wrote when I was about fourteen/fifteen. I didn’t finish it. It must have been an ‘on the spur of the moment’ kind of story, where I just had an idea that I wanted to get down, so it’s not amazing but I kind of like the simplicity of it.

The world was grey. The clouds, with their piercing cold droplets of water, were grey. The sky was a never ending blanket of grey. The buildings were grey. The puddles were grey. The birds were grey. The people were grey. Even I was a grey being, synchronised with everyone, going about our schedule.

And then one day, I met her. It seemed like an ordinary day and it should’ve been but it’s not something I regret because she was the one person who spilled the paint onto the blank page that was our town.

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