Race. [TMNT 2012]

046. Comfort; Lucy

I wake up to find myself lying on the living room floor. I am cuddled into Lilac's side with a blanket wrapped around us both. As I lift my head, I realize that someone propped a pillow under me. I must have fallen asleep before my mother got home, so she took care of us both.

   Shaking the rest of my drowsiness off, I sit up to examine Lilac's bald spot. It's still covered in the bandages I applied to it, so I can't see if it got any better. I'm too afraid to investigate it, so I leave it alone and just hope that the coverage helped.

   A small piece of paper lying beside my pillow catches my eye. As I pick it up, I realize it's a note. In my mother's rushed handwriting, it says:

   I had to go to work before you woke up, but I made you some waffles and left them in the fridge. Don't worry, Lilac will be fine. Love you!

   The thought of eating does not appeal to me.  It makes my stomach turn over. After witnessing Lilac go through so much agony, I'm surprised if I will ever be able to eat again.

   However, the thought of food reminds me that Lilac hasn't eaten since yesterday. She's still out cold, but I go ahead and get some kibble from the kitchen. I fill up two bowls; one with water, and the other with pellets. I set them gently beside Lilac's head and back away to examine her.

   Her condition hasn't changed overnight. She's still in deep unconsciousness, the rise and fall of her chest shallow. Still, that could be a good thing. At least she's fighting off whatever happened to her.

   With the prospect of Lilac recovering, I actually want to eat. I make my way into the kitchen and open the fridge, snagging a single waffle off of the stack. I begin to gnaw on it and let it soothe my strained body.

   I'm glad that my mother finally got a job. Now she has something to keep her busy and distract her from my father. She might even make a couple of friends to hang out with instead of spending all of her time with me. Not that I hate being around her, it's just that I think she deserves some bonding time with those who have similar experiences as her. We both need a change.

   After I finish, I can't bring myself to go back to Lilac's side. Instead, I go to my study. As I walk in, the aroma of stale paint swirls around my nose. Almost every wall is covered in various paintings I created, such as animals, landscapes, and abstract. Some are memories I have, and others are images from my imagination. All of them have a hidden meaning that even I'm not sure of the answer to.

   I walk over to my floor easel and place a blank canvas onto it. I pull out my oil paints and, without hesitation, I launch into what I do best: creating art.

   Dark colors seem to appeal to me most, so I slap them onto the cloth. The flick of my finger is enough to alter the complete product of the image. Each stroke forms the mysterious colors into a picture as the brush guides to paint into place. Every small speck of paint has a purpose to the masterpiece being made under my control.

   Half an hour passes before I understand what my mind is trying to tell me. As the colors fall into place, I realize that it bears a striking resemblance to the black sky I saw yesterday. Realizing this, I take the opportunity to mix up a light shade of purple paint known as lilac. I lightly splatter the pigment onto the rainclouds to represent my best friend that they had hurt.

   Normally, painting helps me get my emotions under control. It isn't working this time, though. In fact, it only makes me feel worse. My best friend s severely hurt, and I'm not even sure why.

   Why did a single drop of rain hurt her that much? I mean, I suppose it isn't real rain. It's too purple and it doesn't absorb into the concrete. But why did it hurt her? Why is something so harmful hovering over New York?  Is it a regular occurrence?