I DON'T KNOW YOU

35.) color scheme

"𝕒 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕠 𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕠 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕤 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕦𝕥𝕣 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣,"
-norvalιѕ

•∞•

TWO WEEKS LATER.....

• K Y R A N •

𝔽𝔸𝔻𝔼𝔻. 𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝕎𝔸𝕃𝕃𝕊 𝕎𝔼ℝ𝔼 𝔽𝔸𝔻𝔼𝔻. Everything was white. It was all colorless. The tiles were clean and glossy, with every step we took making a click noise. Every now and then on the floor would be a few colored tiles, the only real color around.

The chairs were made to be comfortable because let's face it: no one could ever be comfortable in a building like this. This was their last attempt to assure people. The chairs would create a plastic-sounding noise when you sat in them.

    Even the doctors' coats were white, their hair tied back and blue computer monitor lights brightening the faces of receptionists. Small talk, no large or loud conversations could be heard. No one was ever in a happy mood in these places. Not once had I ever heard someone laugh. I hated hospitals.

I anxiously tapped my foot against the floor, resting my head in the palms of my hands, slouching forward. I sighed deeply and closed my eyes. Maybe if I slept, the anxiety would leave me be for just a little while at least. Although, it could very much follow me into my slumber and trap me in my nightmares. But it would be better than reality, than sitting here and feeling sick to my stomach emotionally. I hated the dullness of hospitals, of fear and waiting inside one. The silence was killing me.

• A L Y •

   ℚ𝕌𝕀𝔼𝕋. ℍ𝔼 ℍ𝔸𝔻ℕ'𝕋 𝔹𝔼𝔼ℕ 𝕊ℙ𝔼𝔸𝕂𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝕋𝕆 𝕄𝔼 𝕃𝔸𝕋𝔼𝕃𝕐. He had gone silent, a mute. No longer was he my familiar brother, my family, instead, he was a stranger. A stranger who had shut the door and closed the curtains. A stranger who stared at the floor. A stranger who visited the hospital everyday.

   I didn't think I had even seen his eyes for the entire week after the incident. All he did was look down, stare at the ground, and kept his face hidden. He was just a shadow, a husk walking around only to walk to and fro from the same hospital.

    I always felt safe in his presence. He was my brother. He cared about us, his family, his friends. But half of the time by then, it was like he wasn't even in the same room even if he stood beside me. He was a ghost, a hollow and empty soul.

    Even here, walking down the same path to the hospital as always, he still remained quiet. Any words of mine were answered with a shake or nod of his head, a shrug, or a sigh if I was lucky. I supposed I knew why he was so gloomy, but regardless of my curiosity or assumptions, he wouldn't tell me.

   All I had was the noise around me to fill the silence. Earbuds were a no-go; I had broken mine a few weeks back. The crunch of the leaves underneath our shoes, the slam of the rock I kicked hitting the sidewalk, the stepping of our footsteps against the pavement. That was my music. I didn't like this type of music.

• E V A N •

𝕄𝔼𝕃𝕆𝔻𝕐. 𝕀 ℍ𝔸𝔻 ℍ𝕆ℙ𝔼𝔻 𝕋ℍ𝔸𝕋 𝕎ℍ𝔸𝕋 I found comfort in would bring the same feeling to the others around me. Strumming on the strings of my guitar, I closed my eyes and hoped that my music didn't only distract those around me but myself too.