I am writing this to explore some characters I am working on and how their life is influenced by color. It is an interesting idea...

1. White
2. Black
3. Red
4. Blue
5. Yellow
6. Purple
7. Green
8. Orange
9. Indigo
10. Lavender
11. Pink
12. Teal
13. Periwinkle
14. Brick
15. Mauve
16. Burgundy
17. Maroon
18. Seafoam
19. Evergreen
20. Puce
21. Sepia
22. Umber
23. Cream
24. Grey
25. Silver
26. Gold
27. Copper
28. Amber
29. Charcoal
30. Lime
Red=finished

Perhaps I will get better at writing these as I go along. As of yet, I don't have the knack of making them short enough. I will keep working on it.

White
Trees are dark against the snow and the satin-skinned girl runs, barefoot and shivering, toward them. Sweat makes the pale cloth of her robe cling to newly formed hips. Excitement in her shining eyes speaks as loudly as her breath freezing in the night. She steals glances behind her, still loping toward her destination. The moon hangs down and large as if full of milk and it falls out of view as the dove-like child dashes behind the trees. She enters the clearing, sees them waiting, all clothed in white robes. The priestess raises the blade, the moonlight glinting upon its surface, and brings it down in a swift motion. Three drops of blood fall on snow. The ritual begins. The circle becomes the sacred portal into womanhood.

Black
Dirt, deep, loamy earth crawls beneath my fingers. I am of that dirt. The Mother said that my hair was the color of the earth because I was chosen of Her. I press my face down against the moss and imagine staying here. I would sleep forever. But I move on, crawling through the brush, pushing away piles of decayed leaves with my hands, darkened with dirt and decay. I find the frightening portal and tremble on the edge, between my world and that of the spirit. I steel myself for the plunge. I feel myself under towering depths of water. Or, is it earth. Now it is fire licking at my bones, and the ice of the spirit’s touch. I have come to learn their ways, but they never told me how, or what would happen when I got here. Frightened and lost, I sit down and cry until I cannot cry anymore and all I can do is listen.

Orange
Am I schizophrenic? My psychology professor seemed to tell me I was. “Schizophrenia,� he said, “means split mind. It is when someone’s mind is so split off from reality that they seem to be living in a different world.� Symptoms include grandeur, paranoia, hallucinations, word salad, cats on you, alogia, flat face, and avolition. I am rather grand, but I am not paranoid… the church really is out to get me. I don’t hallucinate, I just see things that you can’t because I can see into other worlds. Salad is crunchy. I am not a logger, buy my face has recently been rolled over by a steam roller. I just really don’t want to do anything today.

Purple
The soul is very old and the body is very young. I lie down on my violet comforter and smell the incense roll over me, stare at the ceiling in the candle light. Breathe, I wait for the tea to take effect. The ceiling dances playfully around the flames and when I look closer, they are little white faeries. I bend my head down to kiss them, miss, and fall into the fire. Long, long down, I feel my feet immerge into a land between the lands. This is my soul and I can travel now, through time and space, to the me that were and the me that might be.

Green
I tug at a soul string and find myself pulled back in time, to a time of aristocracy, of witches and maidens, and horse drawn carriages, to a manor where a woman climbs out of her window, down the cobblestone walls and runs to a horse that was hidden amid the bush and tree. I feel myself running with her, jumping onto the horse, and I am her. She blows kisses to the guards she bribed and they blush as she, I gallop out into the night. Ever the troublemaker, I ride toward the town to stir up a ruckus.

Evergreen
Further I drift and find myself in an evergreen forest. Music dances in my ears and I find myself drawn toward it, where five men are dancing and people encircling them are playing instruments or clapping and singing. Further beyond these people, are tents and a young woman watches the dancers from one’s door, nursing her twins. My vision strays back to the dancers. One of them leaps over the central fire, growling, snarling. I am afraid. He has almost turned into the panther he portrays. The other men tackle him, pantomime stabbing and skinning off the fur, everyone cheers.