An Exit From Childhood

It had taken my friends away, and now- it wanted to take me too.

Its black umbrella was twisted into its wrists as it plodded through the watery streets of my suburban neighborhood. On rainy Tuesday mornings it would press its thoughtful face onto my bedside window and watch me paint my troubles away. Colors filled my canvas, imagination imprinted my mind, and responsibility flew out the chimney. My door remained locked.

 Time was wasted, and I loved every second of it.

Unfortunately, it didn’t.


It was a harrowing fool, full of tax evasions and slicked back hair. It wore its clothes formally to cover what little color he still had. It was knowledgeable-diplomas, honors, and badges spilled from all its pockets. It wore a blank face that lured careless creatures into their demise. I promised myself I wouldn’t become one of them.


But lo and behold, it knocked on my door.

Storms whooshed past and whistled through the cracks of my door. The pounds of its fists cracked the rotting wood that blocked me from reality. Mud brown splinters covered in cloudy white paint rained down from the support beams.

“Go Away!” I called to it, “Leave me be!”

The silence in its voice was muted by the screaming holes in my door. Its dark eyes peered into my house-into my soul.

The air shot into arrows of crisp wind, filling my room with a cold winter draft.

It had taken my friends away, and now-it wanted to take me too.

I grabbed my paints, and ran towards the door, yelling and fighting and kicking, hoping that fear would drive it off.

I flung the brushes, the sponges, and the creativity onto my fading white door, its color giving way to my own.

The magenta splattered out onto the crevices that it had made, the lavenders collapsed onto the door frame, the scarlets shot into its eyes. Reds blurred its vision as its legs gave into painful gravity.

It screamed, it shouted, it wept.

I grinned, I danced, I guffawed.

The crevices within my door were drowned in colors, pastels dripped at the doorknobs, while vibrants bled through the nasty gashes left on the doorframe.  

I stood in victory.

Its eyes burned into its sockets, as its tears dribbled down like watercolors. “Please,” it cried, “Let me in.”

I stood, with arms crossed, melded into my victorious ground as the creature continued to weep in defeat.

Its slicked back hair fell frontwards as its life began to dribble away.



It was dying.


And I was to blame.



The paint had dried from my fingernails and the rosy hues began to flake off into dust. My door creaked from the damage.

A croaking voice rose from the ground.

“Let me in.”

My brushes lay like casualties.


My colors had faded into my floor.


It looked so pitiful.


Such a sad creature.


The door is locked.





Its hand clenched to a gnashed hole in the door, while the other pressed into its stinging eyes.  It breathed heavily, in slow repetitious huffs.

“I can’t.”

The creature groaned in agony, stumbling at every whiff of air.

“You must.”

“I-.” my conscience stuttered, “I’m...”

It watched me trip over the words.

“I don’t…”

Its chest panted heavily.

“I really…”

I sighed.

“I don’t know how to open the door.”

It peered down to the floor then shot its glowing eyes back at mine.
“Of course you don’t.”

The doorknob rattled, shaking the excess paint off of it.

“I have the key.”


A creak that echoed across the hallway wavered into my ears. Air spun from the holes in the doorway and blew my paintings onto the floor.

My paints, my creations, and my dreams flew out the window.


The creature entered.




It was me.


There it stood.


It was myself.




I stood face to face with a mirror reflection of myself.
The creature smiled and rested its hand on my shoulder.


“It’s good to see you.”

“Wait, who…”

“The future is so much more colorful than in here.”

It was a few inches taller than me, with grown in features, and a maturing face. Its presence eradicated foolishness.

And for that split second, wisdom was tangible.


“Let’s leave this place; it’s too cooped up in here.” It said as it scanned our room.

I looked back to see a pigsty.

A whirlwind of nonsense.

An emptiness.


I squinted my eyes to see my paintings fluttering out my window, their colors reflecting the sun’s rays.

Their voices called out to me.

I knew I had to leave.

My older self knew it too.

My room was now empty, without color in sight.

The past was fading rapidly, and I couldn’t keep up with it.


I knew it was time.


It reached its hand towards my own, knowing well what my decision was, “Let’s go.”


Its fingers gripped softly around my own as I watched my childhood perish.

I had no choice, but to grow up- to leave my innocence, my ignorance, my immaturity behind.

And walk into the world for the first time.




What a colorful place it is.



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