The Dairies of Pale-Green Soup, ch. 1 (original) (raw)

Title: The Dairies of Pale-Green Colored Soup
Genre: Humor, Friendship, Romance, Drama
Rating: PG for some adult themes
Summary: The Diaries of Pale-Green Soup is a random small story based on the life of a common everyday Free-lance Illustrator and Game Reviewer; Alias. Through his adopted daughter Violet, Alias comes to learn what it really means to live and to go through life without just living through the motions.

And maybe help a little girl understand that sometimes the best way to love someone is to let them go.
Other: Unlike The Dairies of a Rock-a-Feller; this story is best read from chapter one and forward.

It was like a traffic light, the way the color flashed and shifted, but instead of the stark red, yellow, or green, his alarm clock flashed a pale-green color that reminded him a lot of that one crayon in his old crayon box he never found a use for.

It wasn’t green, but it wasn’t blue either. So, like any other child, he had tossed it aside for colors that actually met his needs.

But this flashing green light was in no way something to be ignored. As he slammed his long fingers on the snooze button-which was too large a button he surmised-he had finally found a use for that stupid pale green colored crayon: his ungodly wake up call.

His days began like any other typical human that lived on the face of the earth: eat breakfast. The thing that gave each human their “originality” in a very routine world was what they actually ate for breakfast. For Alias, it was eggs with ketchup on them and a nice big glass of orange juice, pulp-free.

He always hated how the pulp would swirl in his cup and did nothing but bother him out of his mind until he would finally pull away from the orange substance and get up to get started with work.
And right on time came his adopted daughter, Violet-yes a typical name but just as every parent convinces themselves, it’s unique and therefore, worthy of a person’s face, Alias was no different-would plop her 9 year old self on the chair across from him and begin her day with the same words every morning, “You’re going to die if you keep eating that crap.”

Ah, he sighed, what a day to be him. He always replied with the same quip they both were probably tired of hearing, “Mind your own business.”

“Whatever” the childish but innocent knowledgeable voice would say. Violet was like that, never changed, and Alias reasoned, probably never would. Violet had a way of always saying the obvious but made it sound as if it had never crossed your mind. Like it was a fresh, completely new thought.

Their spats at the dining room table were the same. Always fresh and lively even though the same words were being spat back at one another. But finally they’d break out of habit and do random things that could hardly be called random, until they once again fell into a scheduled routine.
As Alias snapped his hair pins in his hair to keep some of the hair out of his face he had a feeling that routine feeling would be a thing of the past. He, unlike people said in movies, rarely followed his gut, as it normally just lead him to the nearest food stand.

“Violet don’t dawdle, we have to go to the store.”

Unlike everyone in fairy-tale stories, Alias didn’t live in New York City, Chicago, or California. He lived right dab in the middle of…Ohio. While still a bustling place full of life (it depends on your version of “bustling” and where you actually lived in Ohio) Alias wasn’t one to complain.

He’d admit it, he was introverted sometimes. He liked knowing he could be around people, but it didn’t mean he wanted to be. He was quite content on passing a few people, and that’s it. But with Violet by his side, his days were rarely ever quiet.

Just like a child her age, she had been operated on to contain a box everyone knew as: the chatter box. Unlike cuties, the box wasn’t contagious, but it still gave the same affect on him: tiring. She would talk and talk and talk, rant even, about what was lucky enough to pass her mind that day. Today, it was on her favorite topic: nothing.

“Have you noticed when we claim to do nothing we are actually doing something, therefore we are never actually doing nothing. Isn’t that interesting?”

Alias’ response was typical, “That’s great.”

Violet always would pout knowing it was phrase often thrown out when you were pretending to listen but weren’t really.

“Did you even hear what I said” came Violet’s quippy response to his lack thereof.

Finally snapping out of himself he observed Violet with mild curiosity, “Huh?”

“Exactly. You know for someone your age, you have a horrid hearing problem,” and off she went. She was bounding down the street at a child like pace – fast enough to keep you out of their grasp but close enough to make you agonize over the fact you were this close to catching them.

But unlike other people, Alias didn’t even pretend to care. He knew where she was going, as it was the only place she knew how to get to: the art store.

As he soaked in the sharp tang of the art supplies he walked towards the paints; Violet’s favorite place to sit and pout. He knew she enjoyed the smell of paints, and the feeling of painting.

“Violet I don’t appreciate you running away from me like that…Violet?” This gave him pause.

While normally she was skulking at him for ignoring her thoughts, he had never once seen her cry over it.

Heck, he didn’t remember her ever crying! While he didn’t face her, he knew she was crying, and trying to hold it in. Her shoulders shook and her thin body quivered under the stress, as her body heaved heavy sighs of sadness, or maybe, loneliness.

“I remember my mom painting. She would always let me help her pick the colors…so why? Why did she leave me alone? Why!?”

Just like a kid Alias thought.

They jumped from though to thought, normally the thoughts simulating from objects they find familiar. Alias kneeled down behind Violet. He let his eyes lower in mild shame. He had gone too far, and him being him, he was too stubborn to care. He didn’t care about much. Only few things took his interest, and even fewer kept it long enough for him to care about it.

He sometimes thought he should have a ‘kick me’ sign on his back, because he deserved a good kick for being a world class butt-face.

“Violet I…” he stopped. He smiled a little. He didn’t need to apologize, what he needed, was to distract her. While he didn’t like sharing the past, he trusted her. Yes, he trusted this 9 year old that was too honest for her own good.

“I use to paint with my mom too.” He figured this might take awhile so he plopped down on the tiled floor and stretched himself so he looked like an adult, who thought they were a kid. He gave the paints a side-ways glance.

“She didn’t let me pick the colors, but she let me color a small portion of her pieces. She said it illustrated her heart. The main painting and sketch was all her, her creation, but that little part was my puzzle piece in her heart. It made everything fit,” he paused letting his eyes roll to the little form before him.

She had stopped shaking and crying long enough to hear what he had to say. He continued, “Kind of cliché and lame, but, I enjoyed it none the less.

Now about why your mother left you, is something we’ll never know. But what I do know is that you are now a piece of my painting, with your own purpose, and your own unique qualities. So would you do me a favor and help me pick out some Copic markers while we’re here. I’m running low on greens, I don’t know why, I never use green…a stupid color really…” he ranted as he made his way around the aisles to the marker section.

Violet stood from her crouched position and laughed her sweet laugh as she could hear Alias grumble about the increase in Copic’s prices, and about his “stupid green” dilemma. She pulled out a folded up piece of paper from her jacket pocket. Unfolding it she smiled a little as she starred at the picture she had drawn of Alias with his Copic markers. In green of course. Her favorite color. As she folded up the piece of paper and stuck it back in her pocket, she let the three words she had written, beside the illustration, sink in her mind.

‘My new dad’