“Don’t color outside the lines,” I said. “And make the eyes blue.”
“I like to do it my way. Use different colors. Change the shapes a little,” replied Opal as she chewed the inside of her cheek. Coloring took a lot of concentration.
Exasperated, I said, “Are you using orange for the eyes? And blue for the skin? Giant blue ears are scary. You made them almost as big as the head.” It was a horrifying representation of a young girl with her dog. Who ever heard of a girl with giant blue ears and orange eyes walking a green dog with yellow polka dots?
“Can you at least make the hair normal?” I asked.
“Whatever,” she said with a crooked smirk.
Opal frantically colored the girl’s hair, swirling and scratching with violet and indigo until she created what looked like a bruised and battered Medusa head. Satisfied with her work, she leaned back in her chair and flashed a dazzling smile at me. Her sizzling red, coiled tresses and protruding ears eerily resembled her drawing.
“I’m all done. What do you think?” Opal asked.
“I think I’m a little worried.”
“I’m gonna sign my name now. Ready?”
With hesitation, I said, “Ready.”
Using the black crayon, Opal scrawled her name in big, wobbly letters. As she trailed off at the end of the L, the room seemed to spin. I felt as if I were caught in a vacuum, the air sucked upward. Then, in the next instant, I became real, a real girl plucked from the pages of a child’s coloring book.
I stood in front of Opal with my Dumbo ears, feral hair and carroty eyes, and tried to look happy. She covered her mouth with her tiny hands as a giggle escaped. I looked down at my grassy green dog and cringed. I mumbled a wish to be normal, pretty.
Opal said proudly, “You are normal and pretty. I made you look just like me.”
This fantastical story was written for Trifecta. This week’s challenge was to write a story or poem between 33 and 333 words containing the third definition of the word: WHATEVER (adverb) Used to show that something is not important.
I also incorporated The Daily Post’s daily writing prompt to use Roy G. Big – that is, all seven colors of the rainbow — Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet — somewhere in the story.
She dragged her wounded, useless legs behind her. They felt of lead, heavy and dead, as they rustled against the wood floor. She tried to be quiet, but the fear of being discovered amplified each movement of her injured body. She had to find a hiding place, one the intruder would never find.
Chronic Nonsense 