Turmoil

Slanted Grey

Atlanta

My dress is grey. My favorite color. Not many people like grey. Not many people can. People don't understand it. Grey is the sky, angry with the gods. Grey is winter cold and summer heat. Grey is wavering. Grey is lingering. It is washed out memories and clothes hung upon a line.

Grey is misunderstood.

Grey is beautiful.

I love grey.

Today's challenge, is a performance. What a performance has to do with survival I haven't got a clue. But Donna gave us a task, and we all pull together to complete it.

Lorraine will sing. Since everybody has to have some input in the show, Tim wrote a short story, a wistful story full of long twisting words and graceful paragraphs.

"You're going to have to read it, " Tim had said to me " when you talk, people listen. Your voice is silk, "

That is the nicest thing Tim ever said to me. That is the nicest thing Tim will ever say to me. And so Lorraine is accompanying me with her song. Or I'm accompanying her with the story. Or maybe we're just working together.

When asked by Phoenix, Donna produced a guitar, although she had grumbled a little, but she found one for us. She still hasn't got a clue that it was us who stole her ice cream. Maybe she didn't notice it gone. Maybe she knew and decided not to bother. Or maybe she knew and decided to bid her time.

The stage is beautiful. Lorraine's friends, Golum, Fruit and Speckles, were in charge of decorating. They begged Lorraine for help, and she had agreed good naturedly. And now, it is beautiful. It's decorated with candles, a soft glow, a smudge lining the edges of the stage. We sit on the grass, the dew licking at the hem of my dress, staining it black.

"I'm so nervous, " Lorraine says, and I take her hand in mine, giving it a squeeze.

"Don't be, " I say, and carefully pluck out a leaf from her crown braid. I had done her hair before, tugging the unruly brown mass into a majestic hair style. She looks like somebody's muse. My own hair hangs loose.

"Don't be, " a male voice reiterates behind us " you'll be fine,"

I turn to see a tall blond, blue eyed, pinched face human, standing behind us. I don't bother getting up to greet him.

"Brandon, " Lorraine squeals, and she leaps up, wrenching her fingers from mine, tossing her arms around her boyfriends neck. Brandon looks uncomfortable, and pats her back. Something twists inside me.

You're fine, I say. You're fine.

You just imagined it.

Lorraine doesn't seem to notice when he pulls back, hastily. I do. I'm watching him now, watching them, and he's watching me.

For the duration of the camp, I had some run ins with Brandon, where we'd talk about things such as the challenges, and how well who's team was doing. Seeing as he was Lorraine's boyfriend, I never took much of an interest in him. Brandon wasn't game.

But now Lorraine is gazing dolefully at his face, eyes wide, lips slightly open. She wants to say something. I know. But before she gets the chance Brandon turns to her, blond hair falling onto his forehead.

"Listen L, can we talk for a second? " Brandon says to Lorraine, his eyes never leaving me. I get the distinct feeling that he's looking at my bust. I make no move to cover up. I stare back.

"Later okay? " Lorraine says, " we've got to go, "

And Donna is calling us up on stage, and we're walking, away from him, away from Brandon. I turn back, once, before I step up. Brandon is still looking in this direction. And his gaze is not fixed on his girlfriend. His gaze is fixed on me.