Hi, I have written a sci-fiction novel titled ‘Three Nines,’ which I am deeply in love with and I will be releasing a new chapter every Tuesday NZST. I hope you will join me for the ride.
Chapter One
Some people steal ideas, some borrow theirs from their sanity.
I had hoped to be the exception, a creative with gifts level to that of a higher power— but maybe deep down my purest desires were always clasping at other plans.
For as long as I can remember I have been able to look and skew the colours around me. I can change the vibrancy and opacity of an object, letting it fade from visibility and then in an instant bring it back to life — sometimes even more saturated than its first manifestation. This wasn’t a particularly practical gift but it came in handy for my own comfort. When cushions, kettle outlines, and even clothing didn’t fit in a setting I would stare, altering visually in my mind till I could see all the pieces meet a chromatic equilibrium harmoniously.
Sometimes I wished other people would see — and sometimes I didn’t mind how they didn’t. Keeping it secret formed a marble finish to the memory. And I was the only who would remember it.
My favourite time of the year was winter, when snow paved every house and arm of leafless trees. I felt the contrast of colour around me so intensely my hometown became an acrylic painting. Only it wasn’t in my mind, I was in the middle and when I moved it moved with me. And somehow in winter, that became better than a secret.
So I never understood how in school the concept of binary things was kept exclusive to Maths and Science. Visually, the rule is the same. An equation will follow a proof to a conclusion and if it doesn’t, it doesn’t exist. A piece of art acts to encapsulate, evoke or explain — or, it is simply destined to be found crumpled, unevenly shredded, in the trash and sitting next to a half empty bottle of Merlot.
Perhaps if I was more careful with my approach to incomplete projects, I would think more slowly about starting new ones. And maybe, in my more tentative thinking evaluated the risk of accepting the invitation to engage in Dream Theory.
But, I’m in now — and I’m not sure how to get out.
