Me; Just Gris
If you had the choice to either live in the city or the countryside, most people would choose the countryside: they want to live in an environment which is quiet and relaxing, but not me. Who would want to live in a place where no one else is? Where you could scream as loud as you wanted and no one would hear?
My name is Gris. I know you're probably thinking ‘Is that even a name?’ Well it isn’t, not really. My parents don’t love me, if they did then would they call me Gris. It means grey in Spanish. I’ve always wanted to change it, ever since I can remember. I wasn’t always so negative; trying to be something that I am not. There was a time where I could be just me, but not anymore.
My friends were what kept me happy, as at home my parents would ignore me so they could scream down each others throats. We were a struggling family, when others went on trips to wonderful places; I couldn’t because my parents didn’t have enough money. Money. I think that is the word I have heard the most in my entire lifetime.
We were learning names of colours at school and I was begging to enjoy the subject. When I saw my name next to the colour grey I was confused, so I asked why this was? I was told that my name meant grey. I felt all cold, as if I had walked outside on a frosty day with no coat on. This proved my parents didn’t love me. What kind of parents call their child grey? It seemed as though time had slowed down, as if when I was running, I was really walking. I ended up in a field, the sky was grey and miserable. I thought that was very fitting to the way I felt. I went and sat under the large oak tree, and thought about how worthless I really was. I decided as soon as I was old enough I would change my name to Tom, my brother’s name.
My brother was my inspiration, my idol, but I am saddened to say that I only knew him properly for five years of my life. My brother was the one who kept me safe when mum and dad were arguing; he made me not feel scared. Tom was the one who looked after me, fed me and cleaned me. He was like the parent that I never had.
When I was six years old, a terrible tragedy occurred. One day he couldn’t take it anymore, so he took me, some food, water and his lucky coin. He found it in our garden when he was young and it had always been with him ever since, he never let it go. He said it was a Roman coin, and it was worth a lot of money. He never told mum and dad about it, they would go crazy over it, they would sell it for sure.
We left as the clock struck 11. I’ve always liked the night time, it always fascinated me. Tom was very fond of sailing; he loved building boats and the sea. So he took me down to the port and to his sailboat. The weather was the worst I’d ever seen to this day. This rain poured down onto us, but Tom carried on working to get us free from this awful life; his green eyes glistening as thought they were emeralds. We were set free with the roars of the thunder and the anger of the lighting upon us. I didn’t feel right, it was almost like God was telling us something bad was going to happen though the weather. It seems like the weather also reflects my mood. I miss Tom so much, why him, why not me? Why did they have to find me and send me back? To be honest, I would have rather died there and then with Tom.
I moved school. Luckily enough, my dad got a job in London, the capital city. I didn’t know anyone there. Great. I thought to myself, time to create a new Gris; a new me.