Short Fictions, Thrills And Wonders

A Dream In Purple

It all started in a dream. A purple coloured dream. It was raining in that dream. A light dreamy drizzle that dampens everything. I was standing in that rain, with my purple dress, and my purple shoes. I let it fall onto my hair, long, silky and violet, while I walk on the silent tar road. Headlights shine violently indigo from a distance, and I walk off the roads and onto the edges of the lavender fields that surround me as a brightly coloured purple limo zoomed past me, bringing with it a breeze that embraces me for a brief moment before dissolving forever into the air.

I stare at those indigo lights as they fade into the sunset, romantic and noir, like an old-school movie. Like those old-school movies that I have watched a million times over. A million time over with him, purple coloured him on that purple coloured couch, while the violet screen shows scene after scene. The sunset is over now, and the stars above shine, dim and sensual, like the lights of lavender candles on a table in a darkness, illuminating only vague shadows of the couple's faces.

The light is, of course, purple.

And suddenly I am back in that car on that day, that car that changes it all and that day that was changed. As always, he drives and I sit next to him, staring at my shoes or staring at him. Then, darkness surrounds me, and everything is gone. Him, the car, the drizzle, my shoes, my dress, the fields and the road. All gone. Like the work of a particularly cruel editor, allowing a story to build up but cutting out the climax and the resolutions.

And here the dream ends, and real life begins.

I wake up, reaching my hand out to the other side of the two person bed that seems so empty without him, feeling that spot where he used to be, hoping that I can feel his skin against my fingertips once more.

I love to love. I sleep to dream. I dream to love again, basking under the violet light in his strong purple arms.

So I dive once more into my purple dreams, where I can still see him, touch him, hear him.

And when I'm not dreaming I live. I live with the sounds of metal crushing under pressure by my ears, I live with screams, my own, reverberating in my room. I live with the lines on the monitor, and an empty shell on a hospital bed that I have to feed and take care of. A shell that was once a man, a shell which I once loved but now loathed. I loath its silence and I loath its emptiness. I loath everything it once was and everything it isn't. Why give me hope and then crush it? I am angry, but at who and at what and why I do not know. All I know is that sometimes, as I sit underneath neon fluorescent lights I cry and sob and wail, and once I finish I will smile and tell the people that I'm alright.

The fan turns round and round as I try to fall into my purple dreams. The tears drop down as I think about my purple past that now lays in forbidden ruins.

But every now and then I will smile, and think about the purple days, and the purple dreams that came after.