Black is the Colour of Rebirth

She got up, as she did everyday, at seven o'clock. She picked up her favourite black pencil and smeared it over her half closed eyes, her tiredness was beginning to wane. The mascara coated wand made its way to her eyes next. First the bottom lashes, then the top. The familiar black powder was blended into her lid, and swept outwards over her pale skin.

Next was her pants, all black and baggy. Her usual black band t-shirt was pulled over her head messily, but her eyes were avoided with the months and months of practice. A necklace was thrown on in a rush as she looked at her white watch. Black bracelets of every kind joined her watch as the minutes ticked at an inconstant speed. Fast one moment, incredibly slow the next. A black sharpie was thrown into her usual purse as she walked out of the room. Down the stairs, black skate shoes were pulled on and she walked out into the world.

Music blaring in her ears, she got glares and looks of disgust from people, other people just stared. But she never cared. She would have a few years ago, maybe even last year. But to her, she was reborn in black, it was the colour of a free soul. It was not evil, or a sinner. It was just a soul free of the confinements of society. Black was her life, and white was the reminder of time.

White was the time slowly ticking away. It was a constant reminder that she had to please herself.

If she didn't, no one would.

Smiles greeted her from her cheerful friends when she approached. A true smile spread across her face. No, no matter what anyone said, black was not the colour of death.

Black is the Colour of Life. Of Love. Of Rebirth.