• I’m gray, possibly the most boring color you could ever meet. I’m gray and people step on my all day long, my life sounds great right? I don’t move, unless that damn tree a few feet away decides to up-root then I guess I’d spike up. Anyways, it doesn’t matter. I’ve stood here for over twenty years, I’ve had trash thrown onto me, kids have puked on me, and I’m cried on. A lot.

    My name is concrete and this damned human is standing over eighty feet above me and refuses to get down or jump. It’s annoying really, I keep wondering if he’ll really jump this time. Damnit. He’s staring down at me, hazel eyes watering. I think he will jump. God please don’t—I was just swept yesterday! Even up there, at the height I can here him. His voice is shaky and almost pleading. I almost feel sorry for the guy—Almost.

    “You don’t love me…You never did and never will…”

    Oh no, don’t jump! Please I’m begging you, You’ll stain me! It’s times like these that I wish I could move, or something. My gloomy edges did not shift in the slightest and I could tell my color was worsening the man’s emotions. I told you gray was a boring color, not to mention depressing. You’re colorless. Useless.

    The man’s foot peered over the ledge and I silently hoped he would miss me and land on the grass or a near-by car. Because really, why should I care if he lives or dies? He was the one taking his frustrations out on me! Stomping, kicking, littering, argh!

    If I could smirk, I would have. A woman had run up to the Suicidal man and pulled on his arm at the last minuet. It was so Cliché it actually hurt to see it.

    “P-please don’t jump!”

    And of course he didn’t listen. His shadow came crashing down, getting bigger by the second. The woman cried out, and I slightly vibrated at the impact. I was painted red, some white hard things adorning my outer exterior.

    Well, I’m not that boring old color now am I?