The Blue

Her eyes fluttered open that blue-specked morning unaware of what her day was to hold. Simple matters of fact would be revealed to this Monday-disheveled youth and it could be said that her life would in fact be forever changed. She awoke, though her limbs refused to cooperate with the strenuous doings of the first day of the week and little was she to know of the blissful simplicity and nativity of the moment she lived.  The budumpa tish of the music coursing through the veins of the walls seeped through her body, bringing a bounce to her step, rosiness to her cheeks and brightness to the stretch of her lips. Everything was okay. Normal and she was happy.

You may then understand why she found it to be quite hilariously incredulous that in a matter of meek time, still in the hues of a halcyon morning that she found herself in the walls of uneasy blues, surrounded by the sterile stench of blood and metallic death. The one she had known for since the time it had been alright to bathe together, the one whom she had told of her fist graze of the lips and perhaps most startlingly the one whom she had bade farewell less than a day’s hour to with promises of sitting together the next day; it seemed impossible that her Olivia Earls was the one who would interrupt the insipidness of her day. Except it wasn’t; and she had. The silent murmur of pagers and footsteps rushing across corridors bellowed through her otherwise deserted mind as she methodically followed the directions that would bring her great revelations. The directions churned confusion and irritation within her, how could it be that they were so plain when they lead to a ward of adolescent psychiatry? She squeezed her fists – in and out, they must have made a mistake she told herself, for Olivia Earls was the girl that created golden streams of mellifluous laughter in her every tone; the creator of happiness most would say. She thought it was rather unfitting that the creator of happiness was found to be in adolescent psychiatry.

Room 237. She entered the box like space, the walls still a perturbed blue except a blend of greyness was also noted. A subdued introduction to death she supposed. A bed posed in the very centre of the room and on it lay the mass of a thin brunette, covered by an unflattering cotton gown, Olivia Earls. She paled and the thud-thud in her chest increased at the sight of closed eyes; something so normal, yet somehow so not, for Olivia Earls’ eyes shone the brightest blue like an open ocean, always wide and awake. The only reassurance of alive were the monitor’s mockingly slow beeps to the beat of her heart. Her eyes scanned her body resting on her wrist clad in gross dressings as if to shield it from the ones that questioned her happiness. But it was that very shielded happiness that she was forced to question. The tight whiteness of the fabric concealed the slices and cuts of Olivia Earls’ true self, the roots of the raw bloody blueness that not even she herself was accustomed to.

She sat at Olivia Earls’ side well past the a.m. unmoving as strangers moved around her, their intent solely on Olivia Earls’; at least that was something that hadn’t changed. Through the window she could see the blueness of sky as it stood proudly against the mellows of white smudges and she bitterly contemplated the promises of content and serenity they had smugly fabricated. Her eyes swam over the sharp features of this sunken being, the so called Olivia Earls whom she had thought would be by her side when she graduated, said ‘I do’, gave birth for the first time and every other instance after that, but oddly she couldn’t seem to recognize this person that lay in front of her. This could never be her Olivia Earls. She did try. Tried to feel something for this girl, but she couldn’t for she did not know this Olivia Earls. She stood up, the sudden movement bringing wetness to her eyes, lent over gently pressing her lips to the forehead of this girl, turned around not once looking back and retraced her steps back through the lugubrious hues of blueness choosing then to step into her preferred state of jovial false blue of the world.


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