violet | a ptg one shot

intro.

"all aboard the love bus!" a faceless man yelled amidst the crowd, urging people to come and try firsthand how it feels to love.

there are a few people who stayed inside the bus, others walked out and left, individually, or in pairs--most of the paired people come out happy, those who went out alone looked sullen, but at peace.

newcomers approached in swarms;

each one of them; young and old, male and female, went carrying things in various colors, mostly, of beautiful reds, impossible blues, and forever violets;

crimson handkerchief, blue woolen sweater, purple book, a mug the color of the sky just before the sun rises--

but there was someone who drew closer to the bus, carrying something unusual than those who carried flowers; a miserable, withered rose covered with thorns. his hands were wounded, the thorns making it bleed crimson.

its petals, once a vibrant color of blood, is now tinged in the color of specs of ashes falling out from a burning paper, a peculiar melange of red and black.

"what's the use? there's no color now," he muttered, his head down, staring at his hand clutching the rose.

he turned to walk away, when he heard a familiar female voice behind him. "there is color."

he didn't look at her, he didn't turn. he just stood there, staring at his feet, little blood droplets spattering the ground. he then felt her grip his wounded hand; he winced from the pain but nevertheless, he still didn't face her.

"i'm blue..." she muttered. he was confused with how he felt those words, he felt it weird that the words which first entered his mind was that;

her words were as beautiful as a flower

"what?"

"you're red." she stated, pressing their clamped hands together then making her hand bleed, too,

blue. blue dripped from her hand,

that blue, mixing with the red of his wounds,

that blue, making those wounds numb,

that blue, which gave him a new color.

violet.