The elements were angry. The wind howled, forcing the trees to bend almost double in submission, the rain angrily beating the grey concrete. Overhead, the sky growled an ominous rumble of thunder. One bedraggled figure could be seen, waylaid with bags, slowly progressing down the grey deserted high street. Me.


Public transport had broken down, the weather was horrific and there was a good half an hour walk from my school to my house. What was more; there was a hole in my shoe the size of a blue whale. Then a building caught my eye that I had never seen before. It was small and purple with a huge gold sign proclaiming; MONSIEUR CONFIS’ INTERNET CAFÉ. It stuck so far out of the depressingly bland grey high street that I stopped to take a closer look.


I peered through the window, but could only see outlines of objects because everything, including the window was swathed in rich purple materials. Suddenly, I realised I was not squinting at a room but at an old wizened face that was grinning impishly at me from just behind the glass window. I jumped back only to have the café door swung open and the entirety of the old mans frame revealed, clothed completely in dark purple and gold. “Welcome, welcome!” he cried his voice as deep and rich as fruitcake. “ Come in and make yourself comfortable!”


The first impression of the room was purple. The walls were purple, the carpet was purple, and the computers were purple on purple trellised tables. Even the air was scented with purple lilacs.


The little old man who I assumed was monsieur Confi ushered me to a plush computer seat in front of a computer.


“I’m afraid I have no money…” I said, groping around in my pockets.


“No need for ticket holders.” He said, taking a purple ticket out of my previously empty hand. “ I will fetch some tea, while you switch on.”


He hurried off, leaving me alone. I pressed the (purple) start button. But when the computer screen lit up, something strange happened. The computer began to glow an eery violet and the screen seemed to be expanding, and then a felt a sweep of darkness that some how remained purple. I opened my eyes.


I was lying on the sand of a beautiful beach and could hear the waves lapping at the shore. There was a slight difference. Everything was PURPLE. I sat up. This couldn’t be right. I had heard of white sand, yellow sand, red sand and even black sand but violet? The sky and the sea was most definantely a pronounced shade of muave.

There had to be a shred of sanity some where.


I stood up, to see if I could catch a glimpse of any other colour. I looked down at my shoes, hoping to see my black regulation lace ups, but then I realised to my horror that something even worse was happening to me. Where my feet had once been there was now purple sand. Slowly but surely, my body was being converted to purple. I realised to my revulsion what this fuschia tainted landscape was made up out off. How many people had died to be converted into this lavender hell? Even my head was turning against me, for all I could here now was the crooked old mans rich amethyst voice daring me to remember any other of the colours which I quite possibly would never need to remember again. I felt anger surging up to my already light periwinkle neck. I started humming the colours of the rainbow, missing out purple. His laughs seemed fainter.


It was working! I started wildly naming all the shades of non-purple colours. “ Maroon! Salmon! Tomato! Peach! Sandy! Saffron! Lime!” I started faltering.


“ There is only one colour that will defeat me, and you have not mentioned it and never will!” The voice cackled in my trecherously eggplant shaded brain.


“Brown!” I cried.

“Never!” he laughed.

“Black” I screamed.

“Close, but not close enough” He cackled.


My mouth could hardly move for the overpowering taste of lilac but I forced myself to think of escape, back to the dull highstreet where I would be safe….

I opened my mouth for my final attempt.


“Grey” I croaked.


In a scream of orchid flavoured anger and plum tainted anguish I was dragged back into the café. The room was filled with billowing grape tinted smoke where monsieur comti had evidently just disappeared. I sank into a chair and took a deep sip of a cup of tea that was resting on a conveniently placed pouffe. I gagged. It was lavender flavoured.


I left the café, enthuisiasticly expecting a long boring walk home, with absolutely no appearences of any shade of purple.