ASUNDER (I) : tmr newt

40: I'm Black

Ella 40

"I thought you might like this," in his hands, his tinged grey hands, he has a daisy chain.

The flowers look grey, and I wonder if his dirty hands smudged the colour away, or if his hands are dirty from the daisies. Braided together back and forth, the flowers seem to be a sort of crown. Cautiously, I take it out of his hands, looking up at him and then back down.

"I'm not sure-"

"You wear it, Curly," Zart looks down at the flowers in my hands. His fingers move tentatively into my hands, picking the flowers up, and placing them on my head. I can barely feel them between the mass of hair that swallows me whole.

I wonder what the flowers look like on my head. If they tinge me grey, or if they fill with colour. Still, I don't think I want to take it off. Especially not when I see the way Zart grins at me when he sees the petals sitting atop my head.

"I thought daisies would look nice on your head." He begins, turning his attention away from me and back to the tomatoes.

It's very fortunate that he basically worships his tomatoes. Of course he tends to the other plants in the Garden as well, including the apples in the Deadheads and the cabbage and spinach, but the tomatoes are closest to where I sit and pretend to work, so Zart and I are together quite frequently. It also helps that the other Track-hoes work around the rest of the Gardens, and generally stay out of my way. Zart never says anything about my lack of effort; something I greatly appreciate.

I think Zart fears I will have a seizure again. Of course I disagree. The more I think about colour, and the more I see it, the less I see the smoke man. He is still here among us, but something is changing.

"I debated putting violets instead, since they started growing next to the turnips, but I couldn't bear to pick them."

It's the violets, but it isn't because of her or I. We are both coincidences, and so is everything else in this Glade. The violets are part of the colour returning, just like the turquoise in Zart's fingers, and the colour in his cheeks.

For a second, it doesn't look like turquoise. For a second, it flashes the colour of pink flesh.

"When does the next shipment come?" I ask, my eyes skidding across to the plants on the ground.

"There should be more seeds coming-"

"No," I correct him, or maybe myself. "When is the next Greenie?"

When he doesn't answer I look up at him.

"Two weeks and two days."

Out his mouth sings a turquoise song, one that stains himself, and myself, and everything else in the Gardens. The colour spreads, fertilizing the soil deep down in the earth, and my soul. It winds its way up inside me, grasping on to me until I forget grey, and I forget lilac and yellow, and every colour there has ever been except for a turquoise flash of light. A turquoise flash with a dark black finish.

Black, contrary to popular opinion, is not grey. Grey has a way of simply sliding around on people's skin. Not staining, not even sinking, simply just slipping on and off like a coat. It is almost a dust in the way in covers everybody. I have severe allergies.

Still, grey is not comparable to black. The black is even scarier than the charcoal gas that wears against one of the Runner's skin. Black is a colour that sucks everything away. The charcoal gas fills you and swallows you whole, until there is nothing left of you. This black is a nightmare. It is as dark as absence. Less of anything than the elevator that carried us to this place. Somehow the black manages to strangle out every trace of turquoise in the flash. Every single person in the Glade blends into one, as do all of my thoughts and all the words I have ever heard. There is no up, there is no wrong, there is only surviving in the endless pit of black.

Then it is over, and I can feel a boy leaning over top of me. "Curly, are you alright?"

We are back to a grey world. The half a second of black managed to eat everything alive. I don't know where I am. Nor who I am nor who the boy is in front of me. Everything is grey, and I can't figure out why. It shouldn't be this grey after all.

What is going on? I can't even see the textures that differentiate the background from the boy's face. He blends into the background, an oil pastel smudge into one cohesive colour. That colour is duller than the ache that ravages my skull. There are riots of pain erupting in my brain; little burst of agony until there is nothing but numb.

What was there before the black? Has there ever been a colour? Has there ever been me?

When the pain goes away, it does not sink and soak. There is torture and then there is nothing. I am staring at a monochromatic world, one I can only describe as nothing. It is blank, but it is not empty. There is nothing I can see nor hear. Something was stolen from me. Something is being stolen, and it is being taken far away once again.

There was a thought. There was an inkling of an idea and now it is gone. Because I can feel nothing, and I can see nothing, and I only feel awful.

The worst part is, I remember. Nothing about how I got here, but why I came.

We were running. There was me and a brunette and a blonde and a ginger. And we were running.

It was a white hall, tinged blue by the flickering lights. I was being carried by the ginger, and my head hurt. She was dragging me along, trailing behind the blonde as I looked behind us. There was no alarm, and I kept waiting for the alarm to sound. There were beacons along the top of the corridor. I couldn't figure out why the alarm wouldn't ring.

I don't know what we were running from, but the blonde lead us further down, until she stopped. There was a door in front of us, and quickly the brunette was on her knees. I couldn't see what she was doing, and don't remember the plan, but I remember biting my cheek, worrying we were running out of time.

The door creaked open, and we were in the room.

And the only thing I can remember thinking, as I was carried out of the corridor, is that he was going to be very angry with us.

But I wasn't worried about the smoke man.

~~~

Well, shit. This is going down. Who is going to be angry? Let me know in the comments below.

What do you think is happening next?

I'll see you next, with Leo with Newt