She was a quiet girl. Not shy, just quiet. She didn’t talk much, mainly because people normally didn’t like what she had to say. It was all right. People just treated her differently.
She saw the world in colours. It made much more sense to her that way, and she liked how they interacted with the glass. The glass… now that was something else. No one else could see it, or at least, she thought no one could. She’d stopped asking, a long time ago.
None of it really mattered to her. All she needed was herself, the silence beautifully encased in the glass, and that neve-rending swirl of colours. One could also say she was quietly sad, too—sad, but content. She had decided a while back that if she could see herself, she would be a shade of blue. The bright blue of a sunny day and that colour you could sometimes see before sunset, before the reds and the oranges and the purples crept in.
She carried on with life; alone in her sea of colour, but never truly lonely.
Little did she know, a storm was peeking over the horizon.
It came upon her in an instant, and made her jump—she knew it was loud, but she couldn’t hear anything. The rain poured down, like streaks of tears running down her protective case of glass. It was an odd colour, too. Not clear like it usually was, but light purple. A lavender, perhaps.
The rain lasted longer than she had thought possible. She continued to walk through it. There must be a reason for this, she told herself. There must be.
She lost track of the days, but finally the rain stopped. Out stepped the silhouette of a boy, his tousled curls winking cheekily at her, his eyes gleaming the same colour as the rain. She caught his gaze, but they didn’t greet each other. It didn’t seem necessary.
He didn’t have a colour.
He walked slowly towards her, and she willed herself not to flinch.
He stopped right in front of her, so close they were nearly touching. Still, they said nothing. It was the most comfortable silence she had ever shared with anyone. He looked her in the eye, and placed a palm on her casing of glass. She watched in amazement, then in shock, as it cracked underneath his hand, with golden light racing uncontrollably through the broken panes. He smiled kindly, and she couldn’t help but smile back. The cracks kept running, arcing above her head, before coming to rest on her back, before they continued along their journey.
The glass continued to fall at her feet– tiny golden crystals catching the light, this way and that. She looked down, then back up at him. His hands were now clasped in front of his body, which glittered while remaining still.
It was then she realised why the storm had come and why the rain poured. It brought him to her, her very own piece of lightning. Terrifying, but beautiful. Full of life, of colour, of silence.
About the author
Yen-Rong is a Brisbane-based writer, and is of Malaysian-Chinese descent. She is the founder and editor in chief of Pencilled In, a magazine dedicated to showcasing the work of young Asian Australian artists. When she is not writing, you might find her on Twitter @inexorablist, drinking tea, or chasing after her cat, Autumn. Her website is here: http://www.inexorablist.com.