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Black Canvas by liza_potter
Chapter 1 : Black Canvas
 
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Black Canvas.

He was black.

To everyone but himself, he was black.

Black is the Dark Side, black is the Death Eaters. Black is the shade of trees, black is the darkness of a cave.

He was black.

His eyes were black, a deep, endless pool of ebony. His eyes were usually so cold, so distant. They showed no emotion, his eyes, remaining just as mysterious as their color.

Black is the shadow of horror.

His entire life was filled with horrors. From his early childhood with his parents to his young adulthood with the Dark Lord, he saw things no person should see. It was a miracle he remained sane.

Black is the loneliness of man.

He never had any friends. The only true, real one he had walked away from him. She was the only light in his dark life, the only color on a black canvas. But no one could withstand black very long, especially not one as bright and vibrant as she.

Black is Halloween’s cat. Much like he was the Dark Lord’s follower.

Yet underneath it all, underneath his distant eyes and miserable life, underneath the darkness everyone saw, he was red.

Red.

It was not a color anyone would associate with him.

Red was warm and loving, strong and beautiful.

He was cold and distant, quiet and cunning.

But even he couldn’t escape the strong feelings one had to feel to live. Oh did he feel them.

He felt love, directed towards one person only. He felt the warmness overtaking his body when she was around, when she smiled at him, when her name was mentioned.

He felt the anger of a broken heart. He felt the intensity of it. It clouded his mind and judgment. It made him lash out, his wand moving furiously while harsh words left his lips.

He felt red.

Red is the blood that gives us life.

Red is the blood pumping in his veins, sometimes calmly, sometimes not. Red is the blood of his master, the blood his master wanted to never end, to never stop. Red was her rich blood, as divine as her, but no longer there just like her.

Red is the flash of the fire.

Red is her hair, as vivid as the fire. Red is his master’s eyes, flashing with the deepest anger.

Red is the rose’s silky feel.

Red is the beauty his master will never understand. Red is her, only her.

Red is the strength of the rose.

Red is his enemy. Red is her.

For without her, he is just black. A simple black canvas.

But when she came into his life, she brought her colors with her. And she painted on that black canvas making it beautiful and a wonder to behold.

When she left, she took her colors with her. The black canvas was no longer a beauty to be envied.

Red was all she left, all he had of her.

He kept the red, the anger, the love, the beauty. He could get rid of the red, yes, but it would mean getting rid of her. And he most certainly could not do that.

A black canvas with splashes of red.

That is all that is left of the once rich painting. All that is left of her.

While all others only see the black canvas, he sees the red, bright as day. He knows she could see it too.

That is all that matters, really.

That she could see, underneath the darkness, there is light.

Perhaps one day she will come back to him with all her bright colors. Perhaps she will paint the black canvas once more, making it majestic.

So the painting will be stars, of all sorts of colors, dotting the night sky, lighting it up.

Just as she lit up him.

Perhaps it really will happen one day.

Perhaps.

But for now, there is no breathtaking painting of the stars and the night sky.

Only a black canvas with splashes of red.

Author’s Note: Boy, am I on a color kick! But I went to an art museum recently and was just so inspired! This is very similar to my story, Green. Hope you all like it!
-Liza























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