A/N: I don't know if this is just a oneshot or going to be a longer fic.. I love reviews and I love to hear people's reactions and opinions on my work, nice or constructive criticism. If you want me to continue this, feel free to tell me and I will! But until I get some people asking for more chapters, this will probably just stay a oneshot.. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I do not own the character, only the plot Idea.

Based off of Colorblind by Counting Crows

The sky was a dull, smokey grey, as was the rest of the world. Even on the brightest of days, the clear blue of the horizon was ripped away, left in it's wake the same stormy dark shade of silver that filled the sky right before a storm. He liked storms. The feel of rain on his skin, whether it be icy from the cool fall weather, or warm and almost sticky from the heat of the summer, he liked the feel all the same. It was soothing to him, the small, pelting drops massaging his pasty skin, though only his face and hands that were regularly seen by others, coming in contact with the soothing water. Occasionally, with a rush of breeze or a roll of his sleeves, a glimpse of his torso or arms could be caught, the soft shape of his ribs and wrists, the dark purple bruises that coated them given a flash at the light of day.

He hated it. He hated everything, every touch, every sound, every scent and taste and sight. He didn't want any of it, he didn't ask for any of it. His world was colorless now, not just from genetics, but also from hatred and sadness. Longing, and lost hope. He was done with it all. Even the soft rings of smoke that curled around the chapped pair of lips in a silky slither didn't sooth the aching in his head. Nothing really seemed to be able to, as of lately. Nothing but Tav's laugh..

He watched from a distance as best he could. He didn't want to scare the small boy in the wheelchair, however much he wanted to reach out and ruffle his fluffy Mohawk or kiss him on the cheek. He had imagined more than once about what the strands of his messy hair felt like slipping through his fingers.. Soft, delicate. Glossy and shiny, just begging to have fingers stroked across and through it. If just his hair summoned up that much longing, one could only image what his lips did.. The teasing yet completely innocent biting when he was in deep thought, the soft stretch when he smiled really wide. The soft shade of pink they always seemed to be coating them, plump and full and oh-so luscious.

"But you can't have any of it.." He told himself, pressing the end of his already half withered joint between his lips, inhaling as deep as he could. He knew it would do nothing to help him forget, nothing could. Not even Tav, now that he thought of it.. Not at this point. He was just sick of everything, sick of his "friends", of his home life. Sick of all the shit he had gotten himself into, that he can't undo. They might try and find him again. Oh no, that was not something he needed right now, not something at all. He didn't need to deal with their shit, he had enough of his own. They would probably beat him again, because they thought he didn't get that enough when he was home. He didn't need to have that episode repeated.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly, smoke slowly slipping out between his parted lips and the two small nostrils that sat at the base of his long, slightly crooked nose that may or may not have been introduced to fists a few too many times for it's own good. He raised a hand to his face, stroking it across his cheek. It still burned slightly, his soft, stroking touches smearing the makeup that caked it more that a previous hand already had. It ached, and felt swollen, but the gentle strokes didn't let up. Instead, he imagined, picturing it was the hand of the one person he cared about in this monochrome world trying to sooth the dull throbbing.

"I'm sorry I fucked up so bad.." Was all he said, his eyes opening. He was getting so sick of everything. Barely any of it was his fault, but he still felt the need to apologize for everything he had been forced through. Every beating he had taken, whether it was meant for him or someone else. Every night he spent crying, his body aching and those disgusting hands stroking his body. Every day he spent out of school, away from Tav, and with them, doing what he was told. What he was forced to do.

"I'm sorry Mom.." His voice cracked. Memories didn't seem to want to leave him alone, and he hated how many of them there were. "You must be so motherfucking ashamed of me.." He flicked the joint off the edge of the building, his head tilting just slightly so that he could watch it fall before distance hide it from view. He sometimes wished he could do that. Wished that he could just take a small, simple step, and let gravity do the rest for him. Let gravity take it all away, all of the torture and pain that he was sick of.

The gravel under his bony, too-thin frame shifted as he did, causing a soft scraping sound to echo oh-so faintly about the top of the apartment complex. He liked to sit up here as much as possible, scrounging a slice of bread, torn up into small pieces. He would let the birds eat it, keep him company while he watched, slowly sucking a joint into oblivion to try and find piece of mind. He had always found that the longer he spent up on the roof with the pigeons and crows, the better his days would be. The more time he spent on the roof, the less time he spent with his dad and his too-grabby hands.

Standing, he started to pace back and forth. The soft greys of the gravel he stared at with intent to kill rustling under his feet with each scuffed step he took. His mind was deep in thought, his expression contorted into one of pain, and a desperation for relief. He had heard it was easy. All he had to do was take a step, and close his eyes if he got scared. Whisper something soothing to himself, imagine he's far away from where he is. Keep himself from regretting, once he realized it was too late."

"I'm ready..." He chanted to himself softly. Psyching himself up.

"No more Dad.."

"No more missing Mom.."

"No more having to deal with the gang on my tail all the time.."

"No more lack of colors.."

"No more wanting something I know I'll never have.."

"I'm ready.."

He stepped up to the edge of the apartment building, hoisting himself onto the cement lip and looking over the monotone skyline before him. He had kind of liked New York, had his situation been better he may have been elsewhere. With people he liked, laughing and grinning. Enjoying life, with or without it's emotionless greys. He tried not to look down, though he knew he would have to at some point. He was doing this. It would all be over soon.. He wouldn't have to feel again, see any of it.. Hear those voices, taste the smoke or sour sweat and skin, or anything at all.

Raising his arms slightly, letting his head roll back, he cast the sky one last, weak smile. For a second, just the shortest instant, he thought he caught a glimpse of blue. Soft and delicate, yet almost icy, pale. He just stood there for a few moments, watching the sky, willing the blue back, feeling the breeze as it slowly laced through his thin, black Boondox t shirt, just as easily passing through his boney frame. It almost seemed encouraging as it pressed to his back. For the first time in a while, a soft, genuine smile graced his paint smeared lips.

"I'm fine.."

Your name is Gamzee Makara, and for the first time, you feel free.