Colors
Clint takes time to observe the colors that make up his partner. He always did have keen eyes.
A/N: This is my first story, of many, I hope. I'd really appreciate any comments or concerns, however constructive criticism is the intended result rather than flames. Thank you!
Rated T for morbid themes
Disclaimer- All characters and other recognizable features of this story (although there aren't really any others for this one) belong to their sole owner(s), which, as you may have deduced, is not me. The plot and ideas woven into this story are mine. Thank you!
Without further ado, may I present: Colors
I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn't say any other way - things I had no words for.
- Georgia O'Keefe
He was known for his eyes. Had he not been in the circus, had his hand never gripped the sinew of a bow, had he never realized his passion, he still would have had the most exceptional eyesight of anyone on the planet. He always did have keen eyes.
And one thing those eyes always seemed to gravitate towards was the very object of his thoughts, the one that was the sole the occupation of his brain at night, throughout the day. The one that became the essence of his life.
She was mostly red, his eyes would observe. So much about her was red. Her wavy locks that tempted his fingers to exploit their texture, her rosy lips that could fill him with unspeakable giddiness with a simple twitch in an upwards direction.
Her thoughts, even, were mostly red. Trained on the red that she believed filled every void on what should be a white ledger, dripping off and drowning her.
Sometimes there was too much red.
It poured from her body like rain, an accident, she'd swear. She was fine. But when the red tainted everything in it's path, when the copper taste was inhaled through his nose- it was too much. He had seen her broken body with too much red too many times before. The blood never seemed to stop pouring.
Once, when a stray bullet caught her unexpected, he saw one more red thing he wished he would never have too. It had been too white in the room, the bleached walls caving in on him as he watched through the glass wall as the red blood was cleaned away, and skin was cut open. They had to keep it beating, they said. Had to move the bullet to keep it beating. He just didn't want to see that red organ endangered in the first place.
She was black, too.
She lived up to her name, she truly did. Her metaphorical heart had a harden stone crusted over it, and the innocent shell of a young girl had been burned and morphed until it was black- until she could feel without feeling.
He believed that grey was a color that would soon come into play, as he worked day by day to purify her ravaged soul.
And when she was mad- a torrent of colors would be used to describe her. A stormy grey, fiery eyes, and a heart devoid of mercy for those who stood in her way.
Blue likes to waltz with black often, especially when a mission was concerned. While his forte would forever be behind his scope, hers was within the fray, delivering hits as well as receiving them in return.
The black and blue would blossom the next day- even if to disappear within the hour under a avalanche of make-up covering her damaged skin.
A cream would be the best way to portray her skin, an aspect of hers that wasn't often shown off. Her milky white complexion was always soft, a stark contrast to her sharp personality. When the sky outside allowed its darkness to overtake it- she would have trouble keeping her own at bay. refuge would be taken up with him, and his eyes would trail that vast expanses of cream that would be hidden away again when the sun reappeared in the heavens.
And purple- he did enjoy purple. Whereas it was usually a color to describe himself- one of his favorite colors, along with its subtle appearance on his uniform- he had begun to see her associated with purple in his head as well. It was all due to the time he pushed open the door to her room and around her slim body his favorite purple hoodie lay. She swan within its confines, but he could never bear to tell her to not wear purple again.
His absolute favorite color, about her, and because of her, was green. Not just any green, polished emerald, or perhaps a shade of jade. The most precious gem, which would hold so much depth and meaning, more than could be expressed in words. It was with this green that stared back at him everyday, the green he would die to protect, that he realized he loved every color because she made them vibrant. It was because of this green, that he realized he was in love with the one who was red, black, grey, blue, purple, and green.
And it was within the green, that he realized she loved him back.
Sooo... how did I do? I realize this is short, not even quite a thousand words. Please respond with your thoughts!
Always,
~ Misfit