Black

So yep.....
I had another itch.
And I tried not to scratch...I really did.
But I gave in as always.
Here's it is. And this time I'll give you the plot of the book first.

Title: Black


Plot:
This story's author is 16 year old Katie McCarthy at the end of her story. Her painting is not finished. Only she can decided the ending.
Her dreams of becoming an artist shape the way she looks at the world. She tells us about her Colors.
Each chapter is very short. Because she sees life in Moments. And each Moment has a Color. And each Color has a meaning. Once a Moment ends, a new chapter begins. Her vision is vague, incomplete, and confusing to share, but it's filled with knowledge and hope. Her story starts, as she puts it "where every good painting should begin," in the middle. A shadow of a tragedy, or Black, always lurks in her mind. It is a mystery though. Will you be the one to discover it?

Here's the Prolouge:

I paint with only nine colors. Never any more and never any less.
Red, Brown, Blue, Orange, Yellow, Green, Purple, Black, and White.
Eight colors. I’ve never used any other color that I can think of.
Maybe as a child, but not now as an educated young adult where I can see that no other colors are necessary.





Blue is sorrow, lamentation, and pain. Any strife or worry. Every grief or loss.
Blue moans:
“Oh, poor me. Feel my hurts; see my scars. I will cry you a river, a story that will make you grab a box of tissues. Oh, poor me. Let me tell you!”





Red is angry, furious, livid. It’s out of control. Read to attack.
Red growls:
“No! I won’t! I can’t deal with this! This stupid mess! I want to scream and shout and kick and hurt!”





Orange is bold, confident, out going, but cautious. It has energy.
Orange whispers:
“Come! Come here! Quickly, now! Look both ways. You won’t believe what I have to say. Be careful now…but WOW!”





Brown is a simple and subtle warning. It’s also contentment.
Red says:
“Here I am. Nothing is happening to today, and I am perfectly content with that. But something might happen. There’s a tension in the air. Something is about to happen.”




Yellow is ecstatic, jubilant, and uncontrollable. It displays complete freedom.
Yellow cries:
“Look! Wow! Did you see- amazing! Isn’t today lovely? Look-feel! Today is great! Happiness, joy, love! Everywhere! Everyone! Look….wow!





Green is patient, calm, tireless, and knowledgeable. It tells a story.
Green calls:
“Come here a moment. Sit down. Settle in. I want to tell you a story, a tale. There are adventures and troubles, victories and love. Come…sit on my lap. I’ll rock you. Let me tell you a story…”





Purple is fun, but logical and caring. It helps you when you’re in need.
Purple tells:
“I was there. In the Blue sorrow. I was there in Red’s contentment. Come, and I will listen. I’ll hold you. Would you like to cry on my shoulder? There now, it’s alright.”





Black is the end, the ultimate elimination. It is death.
Black coughs:
“I was. I am no more.”





White shines, glows. It is luminous and incomprehensible.
White declares:
“In me, there is nothing. But there is everything. I am constant. I exist. I am Me.”





My paintings tell stories. Love, loss, adventure, danger, battles, death, life.
All my paintings are abstract. Everyone of them.
I once heard someone claim that I could do nothing but paint abstract, that I might not be an artist at all. Just a doodler. But he was wrong.
I am an artist. I could paint scenes with people and places and things. But that is not how I see life. I see every moment’s color.
And now, in the end of my tale, I look back upon the colors as if it were a painting. I pick up a brush and my paints one last time.
So I can paint my story for you.
Each color.
All nine.

No painting begins in the beginning, however. It begins in the turning point, the moment where the tables turned.
I chose my tool. One thin tipped brush.
A dip in Color.
The story begins with a fine streak of Blue.