Soul of a Freak

I sit silently on my back porch, listening to the soft chirp of crickets and the distant roar of traffic. I tap my pencil against the open page of my sketchbook, deciding what color the character's wings should be. I shiver as the night air grows chilly. I glance up at the darkened sky and wonder if the cold faces of the stars are staring back at me. 1

A soft click sounds behind me but I do not turn my gaze away from the sky. Not even when the soft pad of footsteps echo in my ear. 2

"Why are you out here so late?" A familiar voice asks. It is one of my muses, his name is Jing. He is the only one I use as a character in my fantasy works. He is also the only one with a real name and a past. My two other muses merely showed up in the Midnight Dreary (my only sanctuary, in the form of an old tattered Inn, to escape reality). 3

"No real reason." I answer barely above a whisper. I smile lightly as I look back at my paper. Jing was about my age and couldn't seem to understand me. He asked me questions but still looked flustered when I acted out my own random accord.4

"Who is it?" He asks suddenly and taps the paper I am sketching on. 5

"Eva." I decide, finally looking at his face. My gaze met his light chestnut eyes and I smile wider. "Do you remember her? I think you met her a few weeks ago." He shakes his head quietly and I sigh a little. 6

"What color should her wings be?" I ask him after what felt like a lifetime of silence. 7

"Depends, what is her soul?" 8

I stare at him, a look of confusion written plainly on my face. He chuckles lightly and rewords his statement. 9

"What is her soul like? Is she nice? Is she kind-hearted? If so, then her wings could be a dull red. Her wings should show who she really is on the inside." 10

I nod curtly and he stands up. I watch silently as he leaves me once again alone. 11

I understand what he is getting at but I didn't quite take it in completely. At first I was deciding colors based on actions alone. I didn't think about what the colors of Eva's true soul would be. 12

My mind began to wander and I went from Eva to myself. What would my soul be? My wings? 13

Pink would never do...I'm not loving or lovable enough to be that....I can't be ocean blue for I am not in constant depression. Even if I do seem sadder then I really am most of the time.14

Gold. A smile caresses my lips once again. A color that depicts the essence of being friendly, caring, and loyal. That would be my wings. On the outside I am any normal girl that would be labeled as a 'freak' for following the morals of my ancestors and living my imagination. I am a friend to even those that I should consider an enemy. I care and pray for strangers I barely know. I stick with the people I love and will never turn my back in their times of need. 15

But that is only my wings. What color would my soul be? Clearly it would be different? Wouldn't it? The soul is what lies deep inside your heart. It's what God had made to define who we are. What we hide by fake personalities and smiles. 16

I let my mind wander even longer as I glance once again at the twinkling stars. I wish I could be up there in the heavens. I could stare down at the Earth and watch as everyone stares back at me. 17

Gray. That is the color of my soul. Pure but not innocent. Not white and not black but gray. The perfect color for myself. For I lead a moral life but still fall to the temptations of sin. I am not perfect but I am not in a disastrous state. I am a freak among my own kind, but still a follower. I long to be in the arms of my true Father but I wish to stay with those my heart yearns for. I am gray for that is the color in-between the two greatest of colors. I am stuck in the middle of what goes on around me. 18

A sigh escapes my lips as I glance down at my sketchbook for the last time. I flip it closed and climb to my feet. 19

"See you sooner or later, my Father and Lord." I whisper under my breath to no one but the one being that could hear me. My body was shivering violently now, I had left my jacket inside. Clutching my sketchbook against my chest I walked into the warmth of my home.20