W#0104: Child of colour

Only the very oldest people remembered a time when humans could see in colour.  Noris can not imagine what colour looks like, what it smells like.   The Elders have assigned him to become a priest and his parents are overjoyed.  Priest have a good life.  Little Noris however, would rather be a Scriber or a Histographer.  He loves drawing and that’s why he is so interested in this thing called colour.
Father found him sneaking in with his grandmother, standing at her bed,  listening to her stories of sweet apple green or bitter lemon yellow.  BeautifulBones (1)Father wasn’t happy, he yelled.  The Elders said it was unadvised to let a little child listen to those kinds of stories.  And what the Elders said was to be followed.  “You will have a glamorous life as a priest.”  He said.  But no matter how hard he tried, Noris can not figure out what is glamorous about being a priest.  And now, Father has taken his crayons and sitting outside makes him long for his favorite toy.
The wind blows, making the leaves dance.  The wind blows making a twig at roll at his feet, as if the wind is telling him to use it.  His little head turns left and right, looking if anyone is watching.  And so he draws, lines in the dirt.  First just one and then two.  But soon a whole painting has appeared.   The wind blows again making some dirt get up in his eyes.  His little hands rub them to clear the dirt.   And when done the most wonderful thing happens.  His drawing has colour.  true and bright.  Exited he yells for his mom.  But when she arrives her face turns in horror.  With the rainwater she washes the drawing away.  She picks up her son and walks inside.  Noris has no idea what is going on.  He must have done something horrible, cause together with a bag she brings the little boy to the edge of town. To the place he is not allowed to go, to the fairpeople.  His mother kisses him softly, a tear in her eye before she leaves him with these strangers.  Noris cries and yells and screams, but his mother does not turn.  Large warm arms hug him.  “Your mother is kind, my boy.  The elders would have killed you, my child.  You can live with us now.”  From every corner people in bright colored clothes arrive.  His screaming ends and is replaced with a feeling of wonder.
“Noris is gone, you shall be Elvan, a child of colour.  Be welcome Elvan.”


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