The Leprechaun Story

I haven’t joined in with a challenge for ages, as I went on holiday, and work and things have been getting in the way! This week’s word is ‘rainbow’, and we’re asked to use the definition ‘from the impossibility of reaching the rainbow, at whose foot a pot of gold is buried (an illusory goal or hope)’.





Those are the only colours I can remember now. Apart from the greys, browns, and blacks of this room. And green of course, my t-shirt is green. It’s a boys one, but I don’t mind. At least it’s mine. I don’t have anything else anymore.

I remember being taught a rhyme to remember the colours, something about Richard of York going into battle. I wish I could remember it all.

I used to have a book with a  picture of a rainbow in it too. It was pretty, and I remember spending hours daydreaming about it. There was a leprechaun in the story too, and a pot of gold that he could never quite get to. Gold! There’s another colour.

My favourite colour is green. Because of my t-shirt. But I don’t like black. There are too many black shadows in this room. And black insects. And when Mr brings my food, he’s always wearing a black mask. Black is my scary colour.

I don’t like red either. Red was the colour of the van that brought us here. Oh, by the way, ‘us’ is me and Mum. I haven’t seen her since we got here. I hope she’s OK. I hope Mr is feeding her too. I miss her lots. I miss her reading the leprechaun story to me.

Sometimes, thinking about the leprechaun comforts me. He didn’t have a Mum around to help him either, and he did OK. But if I was him, I wouldn’t have bothered about that old pot of gold.

I spend hours and days dreaming about what my rainbow prize would be. I’d live the rest of my life in black and grey, if I could just see my Mum again.


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