The void that had claimed him once was back again, as if for a unseen vengeance that would surely be fulfilled. He had once wondered what it felt like to be numb, to be empty and to be sinking in a void. He wanted to describe the feeling, he wanted to detail and break it down as a emotion that was felt by every day people, he wanted to find a color for it, a color that suited the feelings accompanied by the unnamed blankness.

White

White was blank. It was blank and cold and filled with nothing but heavy lead. In much ways, White was similar to black not that he would give care to admit it. White was heavy, it was cold, and it was nothing but 'bitter', instead, white had more of a sour aftertaste. A taste that makes your tongue and taste buds numb. A taste that had you screaming because your tongue feels as if it's being cut off from your own body. He wanted to describe that feeling even more than before.

White was cold, it was heavy, and it was sour. White was more dangerous to have than black as white became the void which you try to escape, White becomes the emptiness that freezes your very bones, it becomes the blankness that you grew so desperately afraid of.

He truly wondered how people dealt with white . He couldn't have dealt with it for it had sided with black to form grey. He didn't like the new color that had started to stain the blank void he was trapped within. Gone went the numbness for a more painful feeling, the feeling of sharp ice stabbing into your lungs, the feeling of thorny roses, cold and wet, wrapped around your beating heart. He had once thought to himself that perhaps he could deal with the colors but he was wrong, that was the first step to a large mistake.

White is the opposite of black and black is the opposite of white, yet Grey is the combination of both. What a twisting labyrinth of emotions this concurs. You've become confused and disoriented, watching and waiting, drowning as your lungs fill up with white and your heart oozes Black.

The brush doesn't clatter this time, instead, a light thud resounds across the empty room as the white brush falls to the floor. He tilted his head backwards, hair falling in front of his eyes as he closed them, the water that slipped past the edges and down his cheeks undisturbed caused a feeling of White to emerge.

He stood up from his chair, wobbly, disoriented and nauseous. He ignored the brush as his feet kicked it across the ground. He was white not black.

The door closed with a soft click yet the canvas painting stood there to dry. A simple white silhouette of a young boy, he was no longer in chains yet he was sitting in a black room that had a white chair, bed and desk. Below him was a puddle of white. Why? Because he was sinking, he was drowning.

White becomes dangerous when you let it get to the extent of death. So, be a good lad and color up your feelings.

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Hey guys, Author here! Second installment of 'Black'. Only one left until we move on towards the next emotion! Hope you enjoyed this, even though it's rather short.