Black. Or more accurately, black and blue. I was beat senseless by my father from the time I was twelve until he decided he no longer wanted me as a daughter.

Red. That's the only color I saw when his wife entered the room. She beat me down so low emotionally that it hurt worse than my bruises.

Blue. Ocean blue. I was struggling to keep my head above water when the only boy in the world that ever stood up to my Dad, was killed in a car wreck.

Clear. Brown. The burning of alcohol had stopped phasing me by freshman year and by this point was the only way I made it through my day without screaming blindly at the sky.

Crimson. The red in my carpet is still there from the gashes I sliced in my arm. The dripping did nothing but stain the floors, and the slash did even less for me.

Green. The grass was green at camp. That's all I remember thinking after I finally saw the light and love of God. Maybe because instead of gray, I was seeing in color.

Bright. My smile. My life. My attitude. Heavens gates. My future. God put me through these things so I can use them to help someone else. And that's what I plan to do.