#3 – The entire neighborhood is beige and gray, but at the end of the street sits a bright blue house. Who lives there?

At the end of my street sits a bright blue house with roses, a bloody splash, beneath the gleaming window panes. Green grass glistens beneath the fresh sparkly dew. The roof, a rusty orange, slopes gracefully toward the ground. Each window seems to wink at the boring grey houses that line the cul-de-sac.

My house, and my neighbor’s house, and every other house on the street is beige as beige can be or the color of dirty ashes. The color was sucked out long ago before the time of you and me. That is until the Color Witch took up residence on my street.

Her house seemed to blossom at the end like a flower in the mud of spring. Overnight it bloomed and took up residence seeming to take up the entire end of the street. People poked their heads out of every door to see the colored spectacle. Then, just like before, they returned to their lives, drab and colorless as the houses they resided in.

I couldn’t stand the mystery of leaving such a bright house unexplored. That is how I found myself, one bright, black, star-filled night staring at the witches purple front door. My eyes hazed over. They couldn’t take all of the different colors. They weren’t used to it.

My hand raised on its own. My arm extended toward the door and then hovered, inches from the heavy, purple wood. With a bang, the door flew open. Beyond the door was a blinding combination of bright oranges, yellows, greens, blues, purples, pinks, whites, and colors I had no name for.

I blinked once, twice. A face, nearly buried in fabric, cracked into a smile. Bright, white teeth glowed between her bright red lips.

“Hello!” she said, nearly shouting, “What brings you to my door?”

Words. I used to know what words were, once upon a time. The booming voice of the witch blew them all away. They hid in corners and  behind chairs. Some of them just covered their eyes and pretended not to be seen.

“Are you one of the neighborhood children?” the witch boomed again.

“I live three doors down,” I stammered.

“Oh! That’s lovely,” the witch exclaimed. Everything about her seemed larger and brighter than anything else I’d seen before. “You look like you need some cake.”

In a swirl of brightly colored fabric, the witch turned and headed back to where I assumed the kitchen was located. I liked cake, but I was no stranger to fairy tales and hungry witches. I followed cautiously. The hallway alternated between colors and patterns. It was enough to give you a headache.

Beyond the doorway at the end of the short hallway, sat a brightly lit kitchen with sunflower yellow walls. The smell of sugar hit me in the face.

At the center of the table, a bright pink and purple sugary confection towered.

“Take a seat dear,”  the witch said. She settled two plates onto the table and placed bright silver forks beside them. She was halfway through slicing the second slice before I came to my sense.

“I should go,” I whispered.

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