By Saidhbhín, age 13, Dublin
I fell asleep to the sound of the ocean. The waves gently stroking the rocks. The sand dancing underneath the surface. It relaxed me. It calmed me. The comfort wrapped around me like a blanket. I closed my eyes, laid my head on my pillow and dived into a dream.
First, I saw colours. Lots of colours. Blues. Greens. Yellows. Reds. All different shades. Vibrant and dull. Bright and pale. At first, they were just colours. But they began to meld into shapes. Not just squares and circles. There were rainbows. Trees. Portals. Suddenly a person appeared. It was a girl. Just a silhouette. But I could tell she had long hair flowing down her back. A small dainty nose. Long graceful fingers. She seemed beautiful. Despite the lack of detail.
She started to walk through the colours. Her striking black figure enhancing the vibrancy. The colours welcomed her dark contrast. They fell in love with her immediately. And they decided to name her.
“Oíche,” they called.
She began swimming between them. The colours hugged her lovingly. Sliding over her skin. She walked around the tree. Tracing the bark with her hands. She slid along the rainbow, taking in the depth and the stories of the colours. She finally reached the portal and glided through it into another world.
This world had the same colours. They just told different stories. They were just painted a different way. This time there was a mushroom. A river. A door. Oíche sat on the mushroom, dangling her long legs over the side. Swinging them back and forth. She jumped off and walked over to the river. She dived in perfectly. Leaving no splash as she entered the water.
She started to swim gracefully through the clear water. She swam and swam and swam. Eventually the river came to an end and Oíche climbed out onto the bank. She continued to float through the colours. Making them brighter and better every time she twirled around them.
She reached a door. And opened it. Oíche walked through it, closing it gently behind her.
This world was very different. The colours had disappeared. There was only black and white. Oíche had changed too. Her long, flowing hair had shortened and stopped at the neck. Her graceful fingers became short and stubby. Her nose less dainty.
I was seeing myself.
The sight enraged the colours. They were no longer bright and beautiful nor was Oíche. They began to whirl violently around me like a tornado. They started to wrap around me but not in the loving welcoming way they did Oíche. They squeezed me. Tight. First my arms. Then my legs. My waist. And finally, my neck. Everything went black.
I woke up in a pool of sweat. I turned my head. The ocean was no longer calming. The waves devoured the rocks. The sand was being thrown around under the surface. The ocean was angry. But not nearly as angry as the colours.