PW #1: Fictional Writing
The day wakes me with a crisp blue morning. Blue in more than one way – blue as in the sky, peeking out from behind the crumpled white window shades above my bed, humming with cold light. Blue as in my first class that morning was math, which I had carefully color-coded as a pale cerulean on my schedule in my spiral notebook, and in which I always used my wrinkled pastel blue graph book to take notes.
But most significantly, blue like sadness, melancholy, and sorrow. Blue that makes you think of gray skies and heavy rain. Blue that weighs me down, tightening my throat and constricting my lungs. Blue like my drenched heart, hanging heavy in my chest like the muffling fog of a cloud barely hovering over the ground. Blue that fills my veins, pumps my blood, and injects my sinuses with the thick saturated burden of grief.
Blue because last Tuesday, my dad died.
I can’t deny it.
Can’t rephrase what happened, or avoid it.
I always try to restate it, to forget it by erasing the memory. But it can’t be done. Every morning when I wake up, the fact crashes through my head like a tsunami, leaving destruction and chaos in its wake. Every morning, I’ve ended up here, staring at the light leaking through my window shades, and wishing.