It was just a thought, definitely not a colored one. Do thoughts really have colors? Does anyone really care about the colors of thought? For me, colors of the thoughts hardly mattered, as long as they are just thoughts with no shades of reality.
“Of course I can and I will” dad said, with similar anger tone.
“Don’t you realize I am in trouble? I need help. I need money to survive, to eat food” I continued yelling. I was not creative enough to show my helplessness except shouting. Sometime people are cruel enough to force you to do things that you never want to do.
Since early childhood I started writing diary covering all my daily activities. The people I meet, what they said, what I felt, what I ate, what I bought etc. etc. Each day, starting with the date and time, I wrote everything that happened that day, till the time I hit the bed.
That day I was busy writing a Java program, in fact I was writing a ‘class’ (classes are small program written separately which can be used by different programs and it performs the same function on the inputs provided) to be used in the main program. While I was engulfed in the mesh of algorithm, I heard a dog barking outside. I know it was a dog bark as no one else bark like that.