July 1st, 2014: I came back to fix some mistakes I didn't notice until now.
I'm gonna make this as short as possible. I'm new here, and this is my first fic, so sorry if it sucks, but I'd love it if some of you read it and took the time to review it. I'd really appreciate it. Anyways, this is a oneshot, mostly Annabeth and kind of angsty, but I hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I am not Uncle Rick and I sadly don't own this.
Colors
She was a sketch on a paper. A black and white representation of reality. She was there, and she was real enough to be drawn, but she was never real enough to be painted.
She was sketched from a father who didn't love her, a mother who couldn't have her. And from time to time someone took pity enough on her to make the lines a little bolder.
Nobody loved her enough to bring her back to life completely, and she never loved anyone enough to wake up and paint herself. There was a time when she loved her father, and her skin gained some color.
But it wasn't enough, and over time the color faded. And over time even the pencil started to disappear, and the paper was wrinkling.
She was afraid to dissolve into nothing, so she ran. And the fear tainted her black, and blue, and red. But that faded away as well.
In fact, when the spiky haired girl and the blond haired boy with the beautiful blue eyes found her almost starving in the dark alley besides library, she was almost completely gone. The lines were barely noticeable, and they sagged with humidity.
She was getting used to the fear, the ever pulsing pencil pushing hard, keeping the lines bold enough for the water not to ruin the drawing, alive enough to feel the terror.
But then they explained that they didn't mean harm, and she could feel the paper solidifying. And then the boy assured her that they would protect her, and she could feel her outline being traced over and over again, the now bold lines bringing her almost out of the page. The pencil lively moved around the paper, creating unimaginable amounts of details, and she almost smiled.
And later, when the fear of the monsters breathing down her neck pushed through her as the pencil almost pierced the pencil, the girl hugged her in comfort, and the colors were flying everywhere. There were oranges, and yellows, and-and reds, greens, greys, and blue and black, and almost felt alive.
But as the last piece of black spiky hair was swallowed by earth, the little paper girl was torn to pieces. And the boy of the blond hair could see as she tore through herself, but he couldn't do anything, because he was trying to pick up his pieces too.
Slowly, they picked up the pieces, and over time, the little paper girl managed to put them back together. But her color starting fading, and there was nothing to paint her anymore. Except for the boy of the blue eyes, and from time to time, when the days were bright, the boy's smile managed to bring a little red in her cheeks, a little gray in her eyes.
The girl didn't know that the boy was slowly painting himself black and gold.
But one day the little paper boy of the sea green eyes comes in, and she can see the color vibrating from him, but also knows that it won't last long, he will soon start to fade away as well. She can see the page wrinkled and cracked and filled with holes where the pencil pressed too hard. She was so sure he wouldn't last long.
But he proved her wrong, (something she later found out he loved doing) because the color kept coming to him every day despite how much he had lost, the color stronger than ever as if coming from thin air. And she realized that he had been loved so much and he had loved so deeply he didn't need anyone to bring the color to him, he could make his own.
She was even more surprised when she began feeling stronger around him, her lines becoming more persistent, the color coming back. She didn't even break when the blond boy left her. She just faded for a while, but the green eyed boy brought her back, like he always did.
And when she was clinging from the edge of the pit, hanging onto him to survive, she felt the color dripping away into the bottomless darkness, leaving her the same empty sketch she had been so long ago. Because she was going to die, and the paper was going to burn until all that was left were the ashes, because he wasn't, he couldn't, go with her, and she never felt so with and empty.
But then she felt him slipping some of his color through their interlaced fingertips, and she knew that he was going with her. She could still feel the pencil digging a hole in her, sharp with fear, but that was fine with her. She had never felt so alive, she had never seen so many colors, and she was finally real.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorite this story! Virtual blue cookies for all of you!