Disclaimer: It's not mine
A/N: For my English buddy who liked 'Emerald' and is just erring on the wrong side of obsessed in regards to Sirius Black. Some lovely angst for a Monday night.
He can be red; crimson, scarlet and all those between. He is angry and woe betide anyone who aggravates him when he is in such a mood. He is violent and sarcastic; disdainful and raw.
He can be blue; sapphire and royal. He is pensive and defeatist, bordering on perhaps fatalist. Lost in his own thoughts and memories, he can be reflective. His mind can be a bottomless pit. He is not quite as shallow as he would have people think.
He used to be yellow; bright as summer sun and sharp. Yellow days were obvious. He was on form, even his harshest critic found him funny. He could laugh and plot with his friends. He was able to realise that this ability was what made his lifestyle choice worthwhile.
He can be grey; not silver as his eyes but dark as the thunderclouds that would appear to be forming about his head. He is macabre, morbid and resentful. He wishes he were someone else and that life is a nightmare. He knows he has no right to such thoughts. He thinks that it says more about him when a werewolf has a brighter outlook on life.
He can be purple; violet and lavender. He is vague and quiet. He does not want to be spoken to, which is just as well because there's no-one to speak now. He wants to be alone, that's lucky. He had James and Remus and they wouldn't let him mope. There's no-one to stop him now.
He used to be white; a clean sheet. He still can be when he tries, when it all becomes too much to bear. He is not influenced by anything other than his own instinct. He is animalistic and free. He is abnormally normal. He doesn't even know what that means but it sounds like him; the contradiction in terms. He can't be Sirius and Black and yet, he is.
He used to be green with envy. He watched his brother and wondered whether, if he had chosen the other path, they could still have been best friends. He wondered whether he would be treated the same. After all, when one is Black there is no need for sanity or rationality or those sensible, reliable 'ible' words that describe Remus so well.
But those were schooldays; days of innocence. His friends are gone and his only family spit at him through the bars, sneering at him and mocking.
He is still the kaleidoscope of colour even though some shades are no longer available, and yet he has only ever been Black. His whole life has been a decision between what is Black and what is right.
And sometimes, alone in the bleak darkness of hell where emotions run high before they are devoured, he wonders if he made the right choice.