The colors were bright and made me blink. I squinted then slowly opened my eyes again. They were spinning. I was spinning. No. I was standing still. I grabbed the railing. I was at the top of the stairs. There was no one around. But those colors were in front of me.

I reached out my hand. They weren’t real. But my fingers touched something soft. Something delicate. I drew my hand back. They were real. Could I manipulate them?

I grabbed the blue, always a favorite. It pulled like taffy, but with less difficulty. I tried twirling it around the railing. It stuck.

I reached for the yellow and pushed it next to the blue. Then, letting go of the rail, I smoothed it into a round ball. I tugged at some wisps, making it looks like the fly aways of hair on a humid day.

A girl rounded the corner of the staircase and stopped, looking at me with a strange look of concern on her face. “Do you see them too?” I whispered. She shook her head and kept walking by me.

I pulled at the orange next, tugging and pulling it into a rectangle. I positioned it on top of the blue, but next to the yellow. It looked beautiful.

I grabbed at the red, but he didn’t want to come, so I ignored him and pulled the purple close to my chest. She would stand alone, but like an octopus, her tentacles reaching from the floor to the ceiling.

The green sauntered over and joined the party, at my urging. But he was perfectly content being a ball, and didn’t like when I tried to push him into something more magnificent.

The red stalked to the corner. He wanted to be his own work of art. “Fine,” I muttered, “be that way.” But he was part of it, anyway.

More people came up the stairs, the confusion on their faces evident. I stopped asking.

Then a young girl, not more than six made her way around the bend. And she stopped short, looking up in awe. “Did you make this?” She asked, and I nodded.

Her mother looked at her, then at me.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, tears springing to her eyes. “It reminds me of my daddy.”

Her mother watched her, as her eyes darted from the blues, oranges, yellows, purples, greens and finally to the red in the corner. “He didn’t want to play,” I said, shrugging.

She smiled. “It’s okay. He’ll come around tomorrow.”

Then her mother tugged on her hand, “Come on honey, let’s go.” And they disappeared down the dark hallway.

This entry was posted in Story, writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Kaleidoscope

  1. Jean smith says:

    Very sweet…sounds like something Logan would say about all the colors! Very unpredictable??? But intelligent!!!thanks Ali!❤️👵🏻

    Sent from my iPad


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