A Splash Of Colour

Laughter echoed through the endless view of the town square, framed by verdant hilltops iced with settling leaves from blooming apple trees. Out the door of an ice-cream store, emerged a joyous little family, a young girl named Iris with her parents, savouring ice cream while unconsciously smudging it against her freckled cheek. Smiles sprawled across their faces. Radiant beams of sunlight accumulated around them as if the sun wished to give them one last special moment.

Gunshots resounded through the atmosphere- Her dad was on the cracked pavement in seconds, liquid trails of crimson trickling out his side. Her mother lunged for her as she stood frozen, her arms wrapping around Iris’s fragile body,

“It’ll be okay, baby” She whispered, her body trembling as she fought to mask her terror.

A man materialized from the shadows of an alley, his pistol aimed directly at them, with the release of his trigger, her mother suddenly went frigid, the assuring warmth of her grasp melted. The moment of bliss vanished, what was once a pure joyful smile painted across her face, dissolved into a blurry smudge. A blank expression on her small face, somehow trying to process what had just happened. Confusion transfigured into realization, her face flooded with tears, a young, devastated girl, at the brink of falling apart, as the world around her went dark.

The next few weeks flashed by, one moment she was standing on an empty street her parents cold and unresponsive on the concrete, the colourful sunflowers on her dress, stained Scarlette. People surrounding her, non-stop questions, and hovering voices. Standing at a funeral, that was never meant to happen.

Over the next few years Iris lived in many foster homes, her parents were the only ones in her life, no doting grandparents or energetic extended family. Just them, her small but perfect family, now inexistent, she had been forced to come to terms with the current reality.

High school was a provoking confirmation. Crowded hallways full of mental-cased teens, and 7 agonizing hours of interminable lectures with no real meaning to her. An astonishing combination. Her head swayed to the left, her mosaic eyes squinting as a glint of light peeked through the art room’s door.

The unmistakable sound of paint splattering over a fresh canvas echoed between the open crevice. Memories… She used to enjoy the feeling, her hands swiftly gliding over a canvas with ease, colours bringing the blank cotton to life. Somehow- her arm reached out, gently tugging the aluminium door handle open to glance inside.

Paint flew across the room, the art teacher, Ms Bellafiore twirled around humming in harmony with the melody faintly played by headphones on her ears. Vibrant buckets of paint surrounded her, Iris stood there, her eyes laced to the radiant rainbow of pigments. Ms Bellafiore slowly halted, before turning to gaze at Iris,

“Oh, Hello there, What can I do for you?” She politely asked while approaching Iris, paint still freshly stained on her apron,

“Oh, Uhm- I was just passing by and happened to notice the paint splattering! I’m sorry for distracting you,” She stammered. Her eyes still seemed to be enchanted by the vibrant array of colour, unable to focus on their conversation,

“That’s alright,” Ms replied,

“Would you like to join me?” She asked, noticing Iris’s enchantment,

“I could use the help,”

Iris glanced towards her, hesitancy and uncertainty visible on her face, yet Ms Belfiore’s tender smile was reassuring, coaxing her to accept. She didn’t understand it then, but that small, thoughtful gesture, ended up being her greatest source of inspiration.

-Ann.Nazareth

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