The Voices of Color: Original short story

A pastel suburban neighborhood occupied Maple Street. The souls that took residency in each home were as bubbly as you’d expect them to be. Lying at the end of the cul-de-sac was a grey-washed two-story home shrouded by forgotten shrubbery. Weeds weaved in every open crack of the cement leading up to the front steps. The porch made all the rickety noises you’d expect it to. The front door was old and heavy, harder to push open when accompanied by dim shag carpet.
The living area at first glance would be presumed unoccupied, no furniture or signs of being lived in appeared. Once a person’s eyes adjusted to the dark interior they’d notice daylight filtering through a window onto the staircase. Each step was marked with different splashes of brightly painted colors. Tracing the steps upward a narrow hall you’d discover it unmarked by additional splashes.
As if the house wasn’t unusual enough the hallway contained a lone door. Its color was off white. Reminiscent of an egg, ready to crumble. Behind this door is a lean woman, with no color in her complexion, long silvery hair surrounding her frame. As several moments pass she stays sitting up in bed with a giant grey blanket enveloping her. A glance around the room displays that all her furniture is grey; the curtains, the wardrobe, the nightstand, the lampshade, trinkets too.
The woman appears calm and collected, her chest is expanding and falling comfortably. All would seem fine and well, however as each minute ticks by on her grey grandfather clock, a mournful gong-peals out. It’s been an hour, the woman has not moved, aside from slow and thoughtful blinks. Deeming her very much alive and not an adorned-marbled statue.
A thicket of grey notebook paper rests at the foot of her bed. Scribbled on the paper is a list of common colors; Red, Orange, Pink and Purple, lastly Blue.
The girl suddenly looked more alert, turning her face to the left, looking up, looking to the right, her voice rang out to a seemingly empty room, “Not all at once please, if we must go over this again let’s be civilized. One at a time!” Continuing with further assertion she spoke out again “Red, you’ll go first.”
“Sylvia, darling, why so drab?” questioned a sensuous female voice. Appearing accustomed to the accusation Sylvia blinked. Irked, a little more hotly Red pleaded “I’m all about empowerment, entitlement, and being evocative. Splash me on your lips and men will be at your mercy, and high society women of the neighborhood will invite you to tea!” A soft look crossed Sylvia’s features, it appeared she was about to let Red down gently, “Red, you’re a fantastic color, I do not wish to have men at my mercy nor tea with snarky matrons. I’ve never been an evocative woman, nor have I ever felt entitlement. No soul is entitled to a single thing, including yourself… Red.” A defeated blubber was heard upon Sylvia’s ear.
“Orange, you’re second.” Sylvia said aloud, alone in her bedroom. In a cartoonish-giddiness Orange babbled “S-Sy-Sylvia!! The day is in full bloom, yet you stay within your room. There’s so much energy out in the world! The sun would be good on your ghostly c-complexion, an orange freckle or two is overdue. Let’s be bold and run all summer long while singing s-silly songs! Brighten your l-life with me by your s-side!” Sylvia, now looked frazzled, and said “Orange, you’re so bright and endearing but you instill me with fear! The world is too energetic, noisy, the sun burns my skin. I do not wish to feel your scorn for you’re as hot as the sun. You’ve left me rather weary and not cheery, so go along singing your silly songs… just not into my ear.” Orange whistled away, and its quirky voice eventually fades.
“Pink and Purple, you may step forward” Sylvia beckoned. The sweet-sounding voices rang out in unison “We are a force to be reckoned, two for the price of one… double the fun! Together we could make you appear softer yet exotic. In our eyes, we see you as one who seeks to be unique, let us help you add some flare to this affair!” Sylvia looked bothered and stated “What an assumption, to claim how I function… I don’t wish to draw attention.” Pink and Purple ceased their proposition.
“Last but not least, Blue make your debut.” Sylvia chided, in a suave tone the color droned “Let me bring you serenity, stability, and reliability. Seemingly you’re not easily moved by other colors’ motifs, I believe we’d make the truest pair, sharing one commonality and that is of our aloofness.” Sylvia remained silent for a long moment.
“Pardon my forwardness Blue and to all the other hues, it’s crystal clear… Grey doesn’t ring upon my ear, I don’t wish to hear your banters, or what you selfishly push upon me, Grey is far more freeing than any of you will ever be. I feel at ease with my desire, for there’s no inquire, Grey is my muse.” Sylvia asserted into her empty room. The grey-washed room was as void as ever and the young lady looked relaxed for a time. However, the voices of color would persist to play.