Colours in the cave
The villagers had to shield their eyes and take in the intricate weaves and colours of their dresses through swift peaks from behind the palm of their hand. All of them stood there, with their dark straight hair, colourless skin and garments, unable to recognise the two girls who had been on their side until lately.
The girls had dared to take the two steps which everyone said led to the edge of the world, but they had come back, and now they were giving their people face, proving the risk they had taken had paid off. It had been a struggle for them at first, to ease their eyes and look at the myriad of colours they saw on long and short dresses, on bags, on large earrings and heavy necklaces, and the hues and elaborate thin straps of the heels they came across.
They had only known the bland, colourless world — that had been their truth — but now, as they stood in front of their people — who looked exceedingly unfamiliar, even though the two of them had been gone for a very short time — they knew they could never endure the blandness, whispering this affirmation to themselves through their rouge stained lips.
They were tingeing the bare walls behind them, and the rest of this world with a sight that proved too much for the villagers; most had by this time turned their back to them. The two who had dared were guilty of having exposed them to a sight that was too powerful for their mortal eyes, the villagers kept saying to one another.
The girls struggled to prove the beauty of all of this, but they would not cave — they were done with fading hues and they wanted to wear the light of the world. It was not about reflections anymore, so they bid farewell and made the leap towards those two steps once again, with the knowledge that it was better for them to keep chasing the next new intricate blend of hues eternally, than living in this colourless world.
Story credits: Plato’s Myth of the Cave; Oscar de la Renta.