'I have killed the one I love, as surely as if I'd placed a gun to her head and pulled the trigger.'
The girl passing by stopped walking, and looked back to face the speaker, 'What did you say?'
'I have hurt the one I love, I betrayed her,' The speaker sighed, before turning to sit down on a nearby bench in the Church Yard, 'But you cannot begin to understand that.'
Her eyebrows raised, 'Try me.'
She found the boy's mournful words arrogant. After all, she too had broken a fair few hearts in her time. No human being is innocent of that crime.
'Okay then,' He said, a crooked grin creeping onto his lips, 'I'll try you.'
Quickly, the boy sprung to his feet, and grabbed the girl firmly by the hands. Her soul gasped, and against her will fear gripped her stomach. Of two things she was certain. One, she had never met this person before in her life, he was a perfect stranger. Secondly, this boy this man was much stronger than she could ever hope to be and, an unbidden third doubt sidled into her mind, he had killed the one he loved. As surely as if he'd placed a gun to her head and pulled the trigger.
In the lonely churchyard the girl screamed.
In the lonely churchyard the girl screamed and giggled as the boy spun her around in wide circles, dancing between the weak rays of sunshine leaking through the dense branches of the yew trees.
'Me and my love used to dance like this all the time,' he cried, dizziness and exertion making him breathless, 'Those were the brightest times of my life, and my love was a dear mellow yellow. Like summer sunlight as it filters through smoke-stained blinds.'
The girl laughed, unable to catch his words amongst the tiny tornado of wind they had just created, 'I think I'm going to be sick!' she exclaimed through her mirth.
As suddenly as he had started, the boy stopped. His expression was stony again, 'She was yellow then,' he said, 'but when I killed her, she was purple. Like the small strip of sky on the horizon between the close of sunset and humble beginnings of dusk. A dead purple. A lost purple.'
Glancing down, she saw that he still held her fingers in his vice-like grasp. Caution played a shrill tune on her heart, warning her to run. But the girl ignored it.
'What did you do to the one you love?' she asked carefully.
'I already told you,' he answered, 'I betrayed her, killed her even. Isn't that enough for you?' the boy snapped, before continuing on a more pensive note, 'She knew, I think, she knew that I was going to hurt her. She became pink. Her lips and her translucent body especially. As pink as an old lady's bathroom tiles, as pink as the blush on a flattered man's cheeks, as pink as the shy haze of heat above a quivering fire. It wasn't long after I started seeing light pinkness everywhere that I killed her. So she must've known, I'm sure she must've.'
The girl's body had become faint and lightheaded. She tried to concentrate on damming the liquid dread pouring into her lungs, but it was a hard task. Despite this though, the girl made no effort to pull away. Perhaps there was a deeply buried instinct which instructed her to remain stationary, or maybe another reason was inhibiting her ability to run. For, in spite of everything, there was something quite captivating about the boy. There was a brightness in his green eyes, and a deranged glee lurking at the corners of his lips. Willingly, the girl found herself unusually fascinated by this scruffy haired individual.
'What was her name?' she began to ask, 'The one you killed? The one you loved? If you don't mind me inquiring, of course.'
He smiled, 'Her name was colour. She was colour.'
This answer knocked the girl back, 'Colour as in... actual colour? Yellow and blue and white and orange?'
Inclining his head, the boy said, 'Naturally.'
As if nothing could be stranger.
'But... but...' The girl couldn't understand, 'How can you betray colour? How can you kill it?'
'I used to be a painter, a painter of abstract things. For years I enjoyed a torrid affair with vibrancy and colour,' he said sorrowfully, 'But I got bored, as men often do. So I killed the colour and turned to black and white photography.'
'You're mad!' Spluttered the girl, her barely concealed amusement causing her to choke on her words.
Crestfallen, the boy stared glumly at his feet, 'I know.'
Touching his face, the girl stood on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, 'But I like mad...'
And the boy, the photographer, grinned his green eyes twinkling and said, 'I thought you might.'