Bloom

21: The Forgotten Memories Remembered

The room has become more spacious for thoughts to roam. It doesn't bring Tulip a peace of mind. They recall those times running through a wheat field, then launching themself into the air without wings while gliding along the clouds. They must've known those were moments of peace, yet in the present they're nothing more than projections on a wall. A forgotten memory remembered, yet just out of their reach. In a humorous attempt they tried to "fly" again, only to fall to their knees in pain and defeat. Doubt grappled their tender body. Are those memories still mine?

They don't know who they are. They don't know if they are a piece of a larger puzzle, a deity that was caught in a scuffle with another, or the bleak definition of an "anomaly" forever doomed to be trapped in a dungeon. They take a glance at their back, which hasn't sprouted flowers for a long while. It makes them frown inside, because even though the blooms were painful, it was something colourful to look at in the reflection.

Beside them lies the flower book, which has been read through and through, front to back, several times over. Now Tulip can memorize all of the flowers, the names, the families they come from. What's the use in knowing when you don't have someone to talk to them about?

It aches more than the ache on their back. The pink barriers are gruelling reminders of this pain. Their eyes guide them to the barriers, which still stand tall, taller than the goddess.

"...her eyes used to be a pure red, her lover's eyes were a pure blue. Together they celebrated their anniversary in purple..."

A flicker from a memory, the goddess standing over her child. They swear her eyes bare crimson for only a few seconds.

"Are you worried?" They say it aloud. "Are you afraid your child will meet the same fate of seeing red? So much red, that when the blue disappears, it'll only leave a colourless white?"

The walls echo back their voice. The two words that seem louder than the others are 'colourless' and 'white'. White, the colour of an angel's garment and wings. Representing all things innocent and holy. But to Tulip, that colour is lonely. Just as lonely as the colour black.

They glance at the pile of blankets, then down at their toga, which has ripped more. The seams are going to tear apart eventually. In a swift motion they scoop the blankets up and lay them out flat in front. One's sky blue, another's white. An instinct takes them over, as their hands guide along the texture of the blue one, rearranging the blanket's shape to match that of a tunic. They take off their toga, rest it by the other blanket, then slide on their makeshift tunic. Suddenly, they feel pain strike at their back. The nearly dead stems are being pressed against their skin by the weight of the blanket. They slide off their tunic to let their back breathe and wait for the pain to subside. Their eyes can't help but fall down to the reflected floor.

They've never felt so vulnerable, making eye contact with their reflection which is showing them completely nude. They rip their eyes away from the scary sight by grabbing the blanket. In a silent apology, they bring the soft fabric to their face, close their eyes, and rip through the centre. The hole is big enough for their back to be about as exposed as it was in the toga. They then slide it back on and fit it properly to their body. The rip has worked like a charm. And then reality hits them: how did I know how to make a tunic?

All of a sudden, the ground shakes. It's not as violent as before, but it's enough for Tulip to almost topple over. The shaking stops after a couple seconds, and to Tulip's surprise, the pink barriers that guarded the doors have disappeared. It's not to their own relief, once they realize the scary goddess has emerged from the door with a flustered expression.