Work sucks. But, in my opinion, so does everything else. I live in a world of black and white, with shades of grey in between. My mother said she had loved seeing the colors, while she had the opportunity. My life isn't completely bleak though. The pancakes my mother makes are a special grey, my favorite out of the infinite sea of grey. She calls them blue. They are beautiful. Now of course, she once tried to describe the colors to me, but I can't fathom what she means. Red, like a rose? Roses are grey. Yellow, like the sun? The sun is white, with bits of like grey. Green, like my eyes? Grey, grey, grey. Black, like my hair? That one I know. My hair is the only thing I've seen that truly isn't grey. I hate it. If I ever get the chance to see color, I will never look at grey again. Walking to work is the most relaxing part of the day. Seeing the greys pile up around me, an endless sea of nothingness, just makes my thoughts stop. I work at a small pet shop to fund my Marine Biology courses. I know, marine biology is a big dream to have for someone like me. But what else can someone hold onto in a world like this? Odds are, I'll never see color. It's only possible after you meet your soulmate, and it's extremely rare to ever find them. My mom found hers, my dad, but he was a special case. He had lost hope in finding his soulmate, and was already married when he met my mother. Although they were meant to be together, his wife demanded that he stayed with her and their children. Unfortunately, my mother was already pregnant with me. The knowledge that he was alive and well, but never able to see her threw my saint of a mother into a severe depression. Then she met Gabe. At first, Gabe was wonderful, a perfect angel in disguise. Until he married my mother. Although I can't see colors, I can see bruises.
Sending me to a boarding school was a mercy. As a twelve year old, ADHD, dyslexic boy, dealing with problems like this wasn't my strong suit. So when I came home to find my mother beaten bloody on the apartment floor, I retaliated. Gabe just laughed and wrenched my arm behind my back and snapped it until I could hear a sickening crack. I hadn't even felt pain in the moment. At the hospital that night we learned two things. One, Gabe was going to be put away for a long time. Two, Mom was pregnant. Tyson is seven now. Sometimes, in the little things he does, I can see Gabe's anger, his power. Just the other day, Tyson was drawing. He had gotten so frustrated he had thrown his pencils everywhere and screamed. Once he had realized what he had done, he quietly apologized and picked up his things before giving out terrified mother a hug. Ty is compassionate, intelligent, friendly, and the opposite of Gabe. He could've lead a carefree, happy life. One perk of his 'disabilities' is that he has been able to see the colors his whole life. Gabe never believed that colors were real. It's a cruel irony that his horrible ignorance is what helped his son rise above all of us. My family was my everything. Until she came.