Delicate Pulse | Violentine

True Colours

It's pitch black and I'm cold and alone. I have no sense of direction, all I have is the darkness and the dread of it consuming me. I get onto my knees, feeling my way around trying to find something that is familiar, something to tell me where I am but it's hopeless. I can't see a thing. There is nothing.

There's a noise. It's a soft buzz at first but soon I can make out that it's a song, a tune that I have heard many times. Happy Birthday.

I follow it and it grows louder. The voice singing becomes clearer and more define, warmer and friendlier. It sounds like Louis. He's calling out to me, guiding me to an exit. I follow the sound of him for a while, the singing grows louder and louder. I walk into something hallow, I move my hand around until I find what feels to be a handle, a doorknob. His muffled voice booms behind it. I open the door to freedom...

I wake up in my room, the same place I left off. My eyes flutter to adjust and I rub the sleep from them. I was nervous to take a nap in case of a nightmare but that dream was a lot tamer than the rest. Louis singing in the dark is pretty creepy but it's better than vomit or being trapped. I can still hear his singing muffled in the back of my head.

"Cleeeeementine! Happy Birthday! HELLO?"

What the hell was in those pain killers?

Suddenly there's a sharp, urgent rattle on the window pane. It's rhythmic and dramatic which can only mean one thing. I grunt as I slowly emerge from my bed to the window. Sure enough, Louis was frolicking in circles, singing at the top of his lungs with a guitar. Luckily it's the mid-afternoon rather than the early hours of the morning. I unlatch it and yank it open.

He notices me and strums again. "Happy birthday to you! HaPpy BirTHdAy TO yoU!"

I snort. "It is definitely not my birthday."

"Wouldn't it be crazy if it was though?"

He finishes his melody and swings the guitar over his shoulder. His hand dives and retrieves a card from the large pocket of his trench coat. He passes it to me wedged between his fingers. "Voilá!"

The cover is a cartoon of a little orange fruit dancing with arms, legs and a big smile on its face. Sprinkles of tiny iridescent sequins have been glued below its eyes, representing freckles. On the inside of the card is a short note written from Aasim and Louis apologising for what happened. "It's the least we could do after butchering your stomach," he expresses.

I brush my fingers across it at a loss of words.

"Violet made it," Louis reveals swiftly.

I gape at him in astonishment. "She did?"

"Yep."

"Even this?"

I point to the joke circling the fruit written in bold black handwriting: We didn't vitamin see that coming!

"Oh yeah, totally. You should've seen her, laughing her ass off while she was writing it."

"Ah, what a shame you didn't come up with it yourself, it's actually pretty funny."

Louis pauses. "It was me."

"Shocker."

"But seriously, everything else was her. The sequins, the graphics, the little orange dude, go ask her yourself," he insists but then he frowns. "Actually no, she specifically told me not to tell you. I don't think we need me on bed rest as well."

"How the hell did you convince her to do this?" I ask, perplexed.

"Easy, by acting like I have no idea what I'm doing," he answers, chuckling to himself. "It works on Aasim too."