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I tell them orange is my favourite colour, and their bearded psychologist says it indicates a natural adventurer who loves to take risks, and is the life and soul of the party.
He warns me against operating from a negative perspective in case I might become aloof, self-centred and uncaring. He advises me to pursue physical pursuits as a means of staying out of trouble.
It’s too late for that.
Far too late.
None of them bother to delve into the reasons behind my love of orange, or its association with fire. They remain blissfully unaware of my nickname at the kids’ home.
I am Pyro.
A camel appears to me as I listen to the well-meaning rhetoric.
Contempt.
I taught myself to understand and recognise emotions by associating them with different animals. I personify the wolf.
Power.
They are incapable of seeing the real me.
Here comes a Kangaroo.
Scorn.
