ASUNDER (I) : tmr newt

36: I'm Attentive

36 Ella

She knows blue like I know purple. It's an intuition that I've got inside the sleeve of my shirt as I stare Leo down. Breakfast in the grass, with two grey boys. In their absorption of her colour I can tell that they are the ones who work with her. Relaxing in the long grass, laughter humming all the way from the Homestead to me. They wait for a Builder to hurt themselves (one always does), since there isn't much else to do.

I can tell they know grey like I know lilac skies.

It's a Story Book. Almost a fairy tale, since all the things fated to happen happen at once in a perfect order. Enter from above stage right: boy with grey skin but a bright red ankle. An ankle red from hitting the ground, dropping down from above stage right. Three heads turn as if marching to the beat of the same drum. Leo is the first on her feet, moving into center stage as lingering fingers part. One grey boy to get medical supplies, another to Leo.

Fourth grey boy peeks down from up stage right. His feet dangle over the edge as his eyes stare at the boy on the ground. A flash of red and Michelle is at his side. She crouches, her arm on his shoulder, and from where the light leeks I try to discern who the boy is. He is not the Keeper of the Builders, but he leaves Michelle's side after glancing up at her, moving to the back of the roof.

Enter Michelle to downstage right. Her feet hit the ground, raising up dust around her like a cloud. Like the smoke that surrounds the man that plagues my dreams. Only brown and earthy and real. Everything the smoke man is not.

She looks at the boy from a distance, before the grey boy from above rounds the back of the Homestead, moving closer to Leo on the ground. The other grey medic runs in with supplies, and they all help the boy up off the ground.

Though he is surrounded by coddling strangers, I can see the bright red ankle has dyed to a swelling pink, as well as the left side of his head down to his ear.

Exit all except Leo and Michelle.

Michelle leans against the wall, which creaks under her back. Leo stands up, and even though she is down stage and closer than me, she is taller than Michelle. Michelle's red fights with Leo's green. I know how complementary colours work. They bring out the other's brilliance, but do not mix together. Like oil and water, I watch as Michelle's warmth spreads over, drowning out Leo. I would feel bad if Leo could stand up for herself. Instead she cowers in the grass, hoping some of the earth will stand up for her.

I wonder when she will understand physics. Her feet push down on the ground will equal force to what it exerts on her.

There is grey air. Charcoal in colour but real in origin. I watch in float and circle by the west door. It is not early enough for such a dense fog to be arriving.

It is unlike the smoke man. He is like a gas, in the sense that he fills up the room while swallowing you whole. You can see through him as though he is nothing but a light grey fog. One that enters your mind and clogs up your arteries until it is hard to breathe. This heavy grey looks like a thundering cloud come down to the Earth. It doesn't spread apart as he enters, nor does it pool and puddle. It is thick and dark. Everything that enters it becomes invisible, and it is moving closer.

"Who is that?" I ask Zart.

I've become accustomed to his fake name. On him it seems to snuggle up against his skin. I've come to terms with the fact that our names are more like classifications, since I will have to use them if I ever plan on actually addressing people. Besides, Zart's grey is not so much grey as it is faded. Behind that there is a brilliant turquoise. I wonder if perhaps that is the colour which he is draining from me.

Except I know that it isn't. My colour, whatever it is, is not turquoise.

Zart turns his head away from the ripe tomatoes in his hands. There is dirt on his forehead, that he only smudges further into his sweating skin as he glances down at the boy.

"He's back early," he frowns, "limping. Maybe he ran into a Griever."

That would explain the darkness that swarms his skin. I wonder what exactly Grievers are supposed to be mourning. Maybe it is the lives they are taking beyond these walls.

"They protect us."

Mauve hands lay down on mine. She is before me again. With blonde hair and a voice unlike any that has ever rung a sound.

"The Grievers?" I ask the question to both of them.

When she hears the question she shakes her head. "The Walls."

"It would be weird, they don't normally come out during the day." Zart is oblivious to the conversation I am having.

When I blink she is gone. Her colour has sunk away into the words that tumble out of Zart's mouth. When I glance at him he squints at me.

"With the exception of that time your friend ran into one of them on her first day here." He bites the words, and all traces of purple are gone. "Made a lot of boys talk. Apparently she ran off into an area Minho doesn't normally go and climbed up the Walls. I thought it was enough to wake 'em up. Gally and him on the other hand..."

I barely pay attention as Zart gestures to the boy up in front of us. The one who's smoke carries them into the Homestead.

Whoever is behind that layer, makes my skin boil.

I can't tell who he is, let alone his intentions, though I doubt they are good. Perhaps he wears a Griever on his skin. The colour might be that of whatever it is those Grievers do.

"If they don't kill you, what do they do?" I ask, looking up at Zart.

He shrugs, burying himself in the tomatoes again. "You go through the changing. Better off dead for the most part."

His words echo through the Glade, and for a second everyone turns turquoise. For a second, there is no grey world, but one of feeling and merit. All because of the changing.

"Changing?"

He cocks an eye, before licking his lips. "You're suddenly so talkative."

After that my mouth seals itself shut. I don't mean to be asking questions. People only give you answers they want you to hear. It is better to search for the truth without the aid of someone else. Still, Zart glances up at me past his eyebrows, before digging his hands deeper into the soil.

"The changing affects the body," Zart begins. "Bloodshot eyes, pale and clammy skin, bruises and pain. Seizures and hallucinations are a common side effect too. Med-jacks can't do much about it except give you Grief Serum."

Seizures and hallucinations are pretty much routine for me at this point. Waking up with mysterious bruises and aching bones happens far too often for someone who hasn't seen two weeks.

"That's not the worst of it though," he doesn't look up at me as he continues. "No one wakes up the same. Changes the mind, you know. Only seen three go through it before, and two of 'em are dead now. One from the insanity, one unrelated. Gally is the only one left standing, and he's not all that great anyway."

"What happens to the mind?"

He stops digging, still on his knees as he looks up at me.

"You start to remember."

Remember. I need to remember what real sun feels like on my skin. Though it may be best to be forgotten, I must know what the smoke man did to me, and why he did in the first place. I need to remember all the shades of purple. And I must understand why the Creators have locked us in this fish bowl.

All of the answers lie at the fingertips of a monster, and in the liquid of a bottle. I must know.

~~~~~

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