Day 4: 30 Day Writing Challenge

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In 250 words or less, write the colour blue without saying “blue”

“Are you sure this is a paint shop? These sound like names of poems. Or really really bad surfing movies,” Henry said, running his hands over the multicoloured cards. “I mean, look at this one! ‘Ocean Plunge’. And what the hell? ‘Peter’s Palace’! What’s to say Peter’s palace wasn’t green? Or pink? Or fucking black?”
“I know, honey. Let’s just get this over with. I have the name of the damned paint in here somewhere.”
Yasmine dug through her purse, tucking her fringe behind her ear as she did so. Henry looked around at his fellow paint shoppers. How many of them were hue aficionados? Or were they all posers, like him?
“A-ha! Got you, you son of a bitch,” Yasmine exclaimed, “OK, so Mum wants the,” she stopped, wrinkling her nose in contempt, “‘River Star’.”
“You’re joking. That’s completely grey! In what universe does that look like a river? Or a star, for that matter?”
“Maybe if it rained that day? It kinda looks like a storm cloud.”
“Yeah, well, Mum thinks its soothing. She read it somewhere. And if we don’t get that exact shade, we’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Not there’s any difference between ‘River Star’ and ‘Fresh Ice’ except the temperature.”
“I don’t know,” Yasmine stood on her toes to look at where Henry was tapping, “that one looks a little more purple. You know, a smidge.”
“Look at you with your fancy painter’s terms,” Henry grinned.
“Oh, I know, I’m a regular Picasso.”
Yasmine scanned the wall of colour in front of them, mouthing the names of the colours as she went.
“Damn, it’s not here. I mean, we might get away with the ‘Snowy Clouds’, but it’s a little too pale, I think.”
“We’re going to have to ask someone, aren’t we?” Henry sighed.
“Unfortunately.”
“Right then. I’ll flag one of them down. Maybe they can explain where these bloody names come from.”

Final word count: 323

I’d like to thank British Paints for these wonderfully terrible colour names. There’s also ‘Satin Slip’, ‘Healing Spa’, ‘Child’s Play’, and ‘Midnight Whirlwind’. I mean…what?!

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About Bec Graham

Bec Graham, 24, was born on the wrong continent. Everything from her burns-like-paper skin tone to her inability to cope with the slightest hint of a hot day suggests she should have been born under the gloomy skies and mild sun of the UK. She hopes writing will get her to her rightful home one day. Failing that, she scans the skies for a spinning blue police box, hoping to catch a lift back to the motherland.
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