Kakavege One-shots

Colors

Green:

Green reminds me that I'm alive. It reminds me that where I am is alive. Green fields of grass or long rushing rivers or green skys.

Green makes me feel sick.

I feel guilt for all those Namekians. I slaughtered them like sheep. They were not people to me. They were as objects to me as I was to him. They were merely obstacles that I disposed of as they were in my way.

Is that all he saw me as?

Blue:

Blue is safe.

Blue is what encompasses me in this room. Blue is what has always encompassed me. No matter what I'd done or what'd he'd done to me, Blue was always there, as long as red wasn't.

I don't like Blue. It reminds me of my bad days. It reminds me of when my blue had turned red with my own blood. I remember when it was torn from me for easier access.

The color Blue does nothing.

But when I laid in my little bed in my little room, my little body covered in scars and bruises, Blue held me. Blue gave me the false hope that next time would be different.

Purple:

I hate the color purple. It reminds me of him. Of the bruises he left on me. Of that tongue that mocked me and what was left of my race. That tongue that felt me.

Those purple hands that reminded me I was no more than an item that he owned. Those curious hands that just loved to wander. Those greedy hands that could never be satisfied. Those purple hands that would beat his words into my body.

And that tail.

God I hate that tail.

That tail doesn't listen. It doesn't see. It doesn't care. It only takes. And it takes what it wants.

The way it would hold me down. The way it would travel up my bare, bruised legs. The way it would force itself. The way it made my body turn on me.

God I hate that thing

White:

I don't care for it. Sometimes it reminds me if him, of those teeth. Those teeth that just love to bite. Those teeth that looked so innocent, but I knew better.

I don't like white, but it's tolerable.

Black:

I wish I didn't remember. I wish I couldn't still feel those cold lips on me. I wish I couldn't still hear his voice. I wish I couldn't feel the way those claws of his dug into me. The way they dragged out every scream of pain I had hidden in my tiny lungs. The way they traced my face and never dared to scratch it.

"You're too beautiful" he'd whisper with those black lips of his.

"Pet" he'd whisper with those black lips of his.

"No matter where you go, you'll always be Mine" he'd whisper with those black lips of his.

Those black lips of his would kiss me like he loved me, but those claws of his would remind me that I was an object for sexual gratification and dealing with what he considered tedious work.

That was my job.

And those black claws reminded me of that.

And those black lips praised me for it.

Black.

It's comforting in a way.

When I close my eyes. It's black. When he would get so close to me, reminding me that I couldn't get away, I would focus if his black horns, and let it consume me. Until I'd fulfilled my duties. And I was told to clean up. Told that I could return to my little room.

Told that I was loved.