colours

v. electric blue

"why are you blind?" the stranger asks him, and out of the politeness his mother had taught him, he answers her.

"It were her eyes that turned me blind," he begins, closing his eyes in emphasis, "They weren't crystals though, her eyes I mean, they didn't gleam brighter than the sun that had illuminated her pretty face, they didn't radiate.

They weren't a pair of ceruleans either, like the sky above us that blankets the earth in a soft blue hue."

He pauses and thinks for a moment before nodding to himself in self-reassurance, "Yeah, her eyes were no sky; they had had no flock of multicolored birds and clusters of clouds that could've been kaleidoscope flecks of brown and gold and green.

But rather, they were electric and striking storms--those blue irises of hers were, oh they were gorgeous," he sighs dreamily and it's melancholic and warm but somehow his words coil and twist into something that can only be pain.

He begins fiddling his thumbs out of habit and he recalls once more,

"They had blazed like sparks from rabid electric shocks whenever I found myself looking into them and I'd be damned if I said I never found myself paralyzed every damn time.

I still remember how they'd ignite and thunder dangerously whenever she got mad and they had so much flare in them she scared the crap out of grown men."

He lets out an if not forced, soft chuckle, "But I would never forget the little twinkle and spark she'd get when it was her necessity to embarrass me in public source of entertainment. Quite a minx, if you ask me."

There's a click of a pen and he snaps out of reverie to remember why he was talking. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"Anyways, uh, her eyes. They, they, were electric and shining when I used to hold her tightly in my arms. Also electric and shining when I had cupped her cheek softly, pulling her in for a kiss on that day," he stops and suddenly he's not just blind, he's also mute and the entire scene is rewinding and playing in his head and so his therapist gently holds his shoulder, telling him to stop.

But he's shaking his head and he's literally shaking but he finds his voice and he goes on, "Her eyes; electric and shining before...someone had shot a .45 bullet straight into her, causing my beautiful everything to crumple backwards with a horrifying bang."

He's sobbing now and his kind therapist is telling him to stop, that it's enough, he doesn't need to say anything anymore, he's having an attack he needs to stop, but he's still spilling his soul out because maybe if he inflicted enough pain on himself, maybe the real pain would finally go away.

"Her eyes! Even in her death they were exactly what I thought they were, because in those moments when that bullet had bit her skin and embedded itself into depths of her body, her eyes froze--electric and shining so brightbrightbright, ithurtsithurtsithurts painpainpain."

He holds his head tightly, his blunt nails scraping the contours of his face, screaming and wailing and crying all at once.

But then suddenly he stops. His hysteria leaving as fast as it had arrived. He breathes with a slight shudder--a mere telltale of his episode--and ends his story in the most anticlimactic way possible:

"And from then on I was blind."