luna [prologue: pastel]
title: luna [prologue: pastel]
word count: 837 words
summary: there's really only so much you can do for a stranger
Luna sees the world in muted colours.
Everything is either dull or a delicate pastel. Except for the people.
The people are coloured in varying shades of brightness. As far as Luna could tell, there was no pattern to how she saw others - not through skin colour or occupation or friendliness or any easily identifiable characteristics.
As far as Luna had gotten in her research, with her quick reminders and observations scribbled between notes and journal entries, she's found that the brighter a person eyes, the brighter the person.
Just in general, the brighter the person, the happier that person is. The brighter the person, the more they want to live.
Nothing scares Luna more than seeing people in black and white. They stand out from everyone else with their dead eyes, and as she gets older, she sees them more frequently. As she gets older, it hurts more to see them and the smiles some of them have plastered to their faces, the downcast eyes others have and the headphones others have acting as a buffer from reality.
She smiles at them and says hello, because there's really only so much you can do for a stranger.
(She's long since accepted that she can't help everyone.)
The brightest ones in full colour are rarer, because most people don't bother trying anymore. They're told to study hard and get a good job and eventually raise a family, but no one is taught how to love or how to dream anymore. So few people seek out something greater and even fewer achieve it. Those people are the ones Luna finds herself staring at, struck by an urge to start up a small conversation, but she's never been confident enough to carry it out. They seem so much higher than her.
Watching is what she's grown accustomed to, and she's gotten good at it. She likes to think there's no one better at it than her (although that very well may be untrue) and she tries to create a pattern or a formula or something linking each person's behaviours to the vividness of the person themselves. She hasn't made very much progress but she writes everything she can, regardless.
Luna can't see herself - not her own brightness anyway. She can look in the mirror like anyone else, can see herself and assess her own appearance just fine. But when it comes to her brightness, she only blends in seamlessly with the monochromatic world around her.
People used to tell Luna she was such a good child, because she didn't see people by skin colour like so many people did in their ignorance. She never told them it was because she couldn't really see the colour of their skin in comparison to everything else.
Her teacher used to praise her for her ability to so accurately and extensively describe colours and connect attributes of human nature to different shades. Her teacher was complimenting what she thought was imagination, but really, it was just like a journal entry.
Luna volunteers sometimes, usually telling stories, alternating between storybooks she's provided at the library and tales she's collected in her twenty-one years. She's found that telling stories about the brightest people she knew eventually caused anyone who listens to leave slightly brighter, a plethora of colours brightening from their hearts.
Children are her favourite, because when they listen, they absorb whatever it is that they're being told, and maybe they'll carry that home to tell their siblings, or their parents, or their friends. Maybe someone would find it important enough to write down, and they'll stumble upon it one day years from now. And maybe they won't remember where they got the story from, but maybe it will remind them of who they used to be and they'll walk away brighter again and again.
Elders are her second favourite to speak to because they often reminisced of their own youth when she brought up her stories, and she doesn't need to read from a picture book. Maybe they'll spread the stories to their children and grandchildren and to each other. And sometimes, they'll tell her a story too, of themselves or someone they once knew, and Luna can see them lighting up from the inside out as their eyes glaze over, watching something else, and their voice grows nostalgic and there's a wistful beat to their hearts as they remember.
Luna finds that telling stories is her way of giving back, and trying to make the world brighter.
(And, yes, the people she tells to are also strangers, but they're expecting her and they're welcoming her and they want to listen and learn. There is such a difference, because there are always going to be the ones who are past the point of caring enough to listen.)
The people she loves aren't always bright and she can't always make them bright, no matter how hard she tries. Sometimes they're really just truly sad and longing for something that isn't there anymore.
part one: victoria
word count: 837 words
summary: there's really only so much you can do for a stranger
Luna sees the world in muted colours.
Everything is either dull or a delicate pastel. Except for the people.
The people are coloured in varying shades of brightness. As far as Luna could tell, there was no pattern to how she saw others - not through skin colour or occupation or friendliness or any easily identifiable characteristics.
As far as Luna had gotten in her research, with her quick reminders and observations scribbled between notes and journal entries, she's found that the brighter a person eyes, the brighter the person.
Just in general, the brighter the person, the happier that person is. The brighter the person, the more they want to live.
Nothing scares Luna more than seeing people in black and white. They stand out from everyone else with their dead eyes, and as she gets older, she sees them more frequently. As she gets older, it hurts more to see them and the smiles some of them have plastered to their faces, the downcast eyes others have and the headphones others have acting as a buffer from reality.
She smiles at them and says hello, because there's really only so much you can do for a stranger.
(She's long since accepted that she can't help everyone.)
The brightest ones in full colour are rarer, because most people don't bother trying anymore. They're told to study hard and get a good job and eventually raise a family, but no one is taught how to love or how to dream anymore. So few people seek out something greater and even fewer achieve it. Those people are the ones Luna finds herself staring at, struck by an urge to start up a small conversation, but she's never been confident enough to carry it out. They seem so much higher than her.
Watching is what she's grown accustomed to, and she's gotten good at it. She likes to think there's no one better at it than her (although that very well may be untrue) and she tries to create a pattern or a formula or something linking each person's behaviours to the vividness of the person themselves. She hasn't made very much progress but she writes everything she can, regardless.
Luna can't see herself - not her own brightness anyway. She can look in the mirror like anyone else, can see herself and assess her own appearance just fine. But when it comes to her brightness, she only blends in seamlessly with the monochromatic world around her.
People used to tell Luna she was such a good child, because she didn't see people by skin colour like so many people did in their ignorance. She never told them it was because she couldn't really see the colour of their skin in comparison to everything else.
Her teacher used to praise her for her ability to so accurately and extensively describe colours and connect attributes of human nature to different shades. Her teacher was complimenting what she thought was imagination, but really, it was just like a journal entry.
Luna volunteers sometimes, usually telling stories, alternating between storybooks she's provided at the library and tales she's collected in her twenty-one years. She's found that telling stories about the brightest people she knew eventually caused anyone who listens to leave slightly brighter, a plethora of colours brightening from their hearts.
Children are her favourite, because when they listen, they absorb whatever it is that they're being told, and maybe they'll carry that home to tell their siblings, or their parents, or their friends. Maybe someone would find it important enough to write down, and they'll stumble upon it one day years from now. And maybe they won't remember where they got the story from, but maybe it will remind them of who they used to be and they'll walk away brighter again and again.
Elders are her second favourite to speak to because they often reminisced of their own youth when she brought up her stories, and she doesn't need to read from a picture book. Maybe they'll spread the stories to their children and grandchildren and to each other. And sometimes, they'll tell her a story too, of themselves or someone they once knew, and Luna can see them lighting up from the inside out as their eyes glaze over, watching something else, and their voice grows nostalgic and there's a wistful beat to their hearts as they remember.
Luna finds that telling stories is her way of giving back, and trying to make the world brighter.
(And, yes, the people she tells to are also strangers, but they're expecting her and they're welcoming her and they want to listen and learn. There is such a difference, because there are always going to be the ones who are past the point of caring enough to listen.)
The people she loves aren't always bright and she can't always make them bright, no matter how hard she tries. Sometimes they're really just truly sad and longing for something that isn't there anymore.
part one: victoria