Black and White
By: morbid romantic
Disclaimer: This was something I wrote as an audition to play the role of Marius in an RPG and I wanted to let you all read it. Lucky bunch. Anywho. Anne Rice's property, i'm just sampling.
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Black and white.
Such plain colors, dull and lifeless, lacking the luster and grace that the more beautiful rainbow of colors seemed to bring out. Colors expressed emotion and feeling whereas black and white were empty.
Empty like he himself was.
There was a feeling in him, that even he could not touch upon and place. There was a black hole in him that sucked it in and Marius himself dare not go after it. It would do little more good for him then a dog chasing it's tail; you would never get anywhere.
He didn't know what caused his utter hopelessness but he had all but gotten used to it by now.
Marius put the brush in his hand to the blank canvas and closed his eyes, trying to make a picture come, trying to no avail. With a groan of frustration he opened his eyes and looked at the pallet in his hands. The pallet had the only two colors that he chose to paint with in these 'dark days.'
Black and white.
They were the only colors worthy because that was how he felt inside.
But no image would come, he couldn't seem to put those bottled up emotions out on canvas, they wouldn't release themselves to him.
Maybe they're staying inside where they belong, he reasoned even though deep down in him he knew that that was not true. They didn't come because he was afraid of them.
And how would it feel with 2000 years of pent up anger and frustration and sadness came out? That was what he was afraid of. It would destroy him, surely, and he knew madness awaited if he sought them out. But madness was already descending on him, he couldn't go on like this.
He had already lost so much, how much more damage could the loss of his sanity do?
It had been years since the last of his fledglings had left him; they had all been with him once. First Amadeo had left with Sybelle and Benji then one night Pandora herself had slipped away.
And you let them go, damn you, he cursed himself.
He needed color! He needed to settle his anger and his sadness or no color would ever come to him. Could this elegant man settle for a life in dull shades of gray?
Close your eyes, Marius, he willed himself, setting down the brush. He needed silence and concentration. This was going to be hard and as taxing mentally as it would ever be physically. He was going to brave this black hole in him and dig for those forgotten feelings, resurface them and hope to bring some sort of closure.
If he were to truly move forward that is what he needed. Color had to be added once again.
Taking a deep breath he shut off all senses until he became nothing but a mere thought to himself as well, light and dreamlike. He was no longer himself, he was in himself.
Go deeper......
Pandora, so beautiful and harmless looking. His first love. So precious and tender in him he ached. He reached his hands out and seemed to touch the thick layers of her wavy brown hair, bathing him in such softness and luster that the mere idea of grief seemed foreign. But like most moments that was what he had and the vision slipped through his fingers like water or sand, impossible to grip.
Did she know that when he looked at her he didn't see the marble goddess but rather the fearless mortal woman that had spoken such brash bold words to even him? He had hurt this one the most and tried to pass the blame off on her.
What else did he really expect her to do after half a year almost of him not moving? She was drowning in something that he then could not understand.
But he understood now and he was so sorry.
Helplessness and anger, fueled by grief and hopelessness. It was all so fresh to him and he could relate to why she was so.....docile now. No longer the out spoken young woman who had contradicted every word that come out of his mouth. She just sat there most of the time with an almost frightened look on her face, trying to hide herself in anything nearest to her.
Had he done this to her?
Oh god no!, he screamed....and there was still no color.
Go deeper.....
Amadeo, his angel forever with the brown eyes that seemed to draw him out of his body. A voice that caressed his very senses like the finest silk. Lips like the softest inner petals of a pink rose wet with the dew of an early fall morning.
His greatest guilt came from this one, the young boy that he had so foolishly fallen in love with five hundred years ago. But this young man was as beautiful on the outside as he was on the inside and he burned for Armand like a drug suddenly.
Why had he allowed this one to be taken from him so easily? Why did he never gain the courage to take back what was so willingly his? And what had five hundred years of separation done for their love?
Was there even any love anymore?
This one had been made to young and Marius was sure that some of what he saw in his eyes was hostility, a hostility for giving him a life that was never really understood in the beginning.
There tones were polite when they spoke to each other now, as if they are little more then associates. How it hurt him to keep that civil tone when all he wanted was to fall to his knees and scream that he loved him still. A barrier of ice that was infinite, it could never be torn down or broken and that hurt.
Oh god, Marius screamed to himself, Amadeo please forgive me.....still no color.
Go deeper.....
Sybelle and Benji, did he love them? Yes. Did he care for them? Yes. Did he love them like Amadeo did? No.
More simply put he had never known them as Amadeo had and had made them pure in his heart and love for Amadeo.
He had felt it was the right thing to do.
Amadeo had committed the same sin he was guilty of so long ago; of exposing innocent mortals to the powers and pleasures of the dark gifts and blood. They had seen his powers. No mortal should ever see what is truly them. Marius knew that Armand knew no better, never having a mortal companion that he had to watch die and had no real idea of what mortality and death naturally truly was.
So there destiny had been sealed by Armand. It was either make them or have them go mad from all they had seen and die. Marius was not stupid, he knew that because Armand had no experience in mortal death he would make them and that would be a big mistake.
Children always grew to loathe their makers somewhat, some more then others. After the loss of Daniel Marius wasn't sure if Armand could handle losing another child or loved one. He was so fragile and Marius worried so much about him. He could not handle someone else leaving Amadeo and he knew Amadeo couldn't either.
So what did he do?
He made them for Armand. They would grow to hate him, not Armand.
It was the only gift he could think to give and it had backfired on him.
He doubled over and held his stomach, almost on his knees with these thoughts.
He couldn't go any deeper and there was still no color. Staring at the pallet he had dropped the colors, the black and while seemed to taunt him, mock him.
In a rage he reached over and grabbed a pot of paint, throwing it to the ground and watching the color splatter and pool. He grabbed another and did it again, then another, then another until every color was lay out like a beautiful raindow. He felt weightless and so grateful, feeling free as he saw the color. He was released, he had color!
He had color!!!
The separate colors and pools were spreading and mixing together, gravity pulling them together to meet in the center.
What he saw forming in the middle of the color spots on his white floor brought him to his knees in grief. He moaned to keep from screaming , his knees going down into the paint.
On all fours he swirled his hands around the paints, mixing them quicker so they formed one color.
He felt dizzy and weak.
When mixed together they made black.
Black.
His trembling watering eyes saw this huge black hole in his blinding white floor.
Black and white.
He wasn't free and he would never be, even when hope did descend, it was never true. That much had been proven to him just now.
His colors and his rainbow had mixed together and made black, the very shadow of his grief.
Oh god, he prayed to a god he never believed in, help me..... I can't go any deeper and I'm lost.
Putting his paint drenched black hands to his face he cried; cried for himself and for everything that he had ever been and done, but most of all he cried for everyone that he had ever loved.
And for everyone that he had ever hurt. God forgive his heart and soul. He would never see color again.
