The World of Unnatural Colours

Two moons.

Never thought I would ever see two moons. As I look above the clouds, I notice a lack of the ocean’s familial glow. Instead, there is an orange sheen, as if clouds of red dust had enveloped the skyline.

Fear trembles throughout my body, I reach for a device that cannot be felt in my pocket. A limb that I can never be without. Fingers fumbling through my jean pockets, nimble yet purposeless. Nothing to latch on to. Nothing to soothe me in my time of need.

You have taken my sky, my one sense of security. I am helpless.

Falling to my knees, I am touched by the fluorescent glow of the grass below me. God has put a yellow highlighter to the fields and marked them as important, but maybe it needs revision. The words on the page here don’t have a natural flow, a sense of purpose. I find it hard to believe that this is intentional, who would write grass like this?

Is this a dream? A construction of my own design?

No.

I would never imagine this world. It has no order; it has no safety. From the purple trees to the green ocean. It looks more like a bustling metropolis than a wilderness retreat. No one would want to see this, no one would want to write this.

I get to my feet, brushing off the blue dirt that covers my hands on my equally blue jeans and set off. One foot in front of the other.

Shaking.

One foot in front of the other.

I don’t know how to approach this strange land, what to do first. I hang on to this lingering idea that maybe I will find my phone somewhere, I feel lost without it.

I rummage high and low, through the fluorescent trees and dizzying landscape. Slowly it gets brighter and brighter, the more I look, the more I feel homesick. I need that safety.

Yes. It’s all about being safe.

My nose itches at the very thought of it, longing for something to satiate its cravings – my heart longs for it too.

I press my hand along the sand of pure white; it’s soft and cold. It’s texture so fine I could filter out all the sorrow from my heart with it. My mouth begins to curl and like the undead going back to their resting place, I submerge my head in the euphoria of white.

Parts of me start to shut down, other parts of me want to keep going, deeper and deeper, until I achieve my goal. There is nothing here, my instincts were off, and I find no comfort within the glowing depths of the sand. I feel as if I have deceived even myself.

Deeper, deeper, until my entire body is engulfed in this chasm. That is when the despair kicks in.

I am drowning.

One arm is reaching above, trying to get a grasp on where the sand meets the air, yet another is digging deeper. Neither arm is more determined than the other, and I remain in stasis. My body has ceased moving, I do not have the effort to fight with it anymore.

I feel heavy. I feel the weight of a thousand worlds with two thousand moons crush on top of me, yet no exit. My mind comes to terms with this kind of death, I am too heavy to even fight it; it almost seems as if it will come as a relief at this point. I don’t want it, but I am content with its presence.

As if this new world had heard my thoughts, my yearning for a life I felt I did not deserve, I feel a warm sensation caress the tips of my fingers closest to the surface.

For moments I feel heavier than the earth, as if I am being crushed with tremendous force, but as my arm starts to emerge from the depths of this strange sea, I feel relief.

My body is being pulled against the weight of the sand, and in moments I lie upon that same sea that had engulfed my entire body only moments earlier. I let out a breath that feels more like a cough, as my insides start churning to the rhythm of the breeze.

There is a peculiar figure directly in my line of sight, its nose touching mine. I sense tiny blue moustache hairs prickle the tip of my upper lip.

This closeness gives me a claustrophobic feeling, as if I am back at school and a teacher is breathing down my neck as they look at my work. Pressure builds up from inside me and I become ready to combust.

Despite having been saved by this figure, all I can feel is anger. I was ready to accept death and then he took it away from me. I didn’t want to die of course, but I was ready for it – he has taken away that comfortable embrace and now I yearn for it, as I had yearned for life only moments prior.

I had total control, I had complete safety within that chasm of white and now I feel exposed, I feel naked. My body is rejecting the air in my lungs, the cool wind brushing the sand off my hairy arms feels like sticky sweat beading down my forehead.

Uncomfortable.

“You look and smell like shit.” The figure asserts, having not moved an inch during what has felt like an eternity for me.

He sniffs me. A sweet odour pours through his breath as light bounces off his red forehead.

That’s right, this man is red. Without responding to the man’s question, I lift my arm ever so slightly to grasp the colour of my skin. I’m blue. Blue like the ocean, but not this ocean. I guess blue like this man’s moustache. I don’t remember being blue before. Not that I remember being red before either.

“I’ve never seen you like this before, but you need to wash.”

I wonder if this man has a house nearby, or maybe even a phone. I remember the number I need to call off by heart, not as if I have any money to pay them though. But that’s not always an issue.

The red man takes my hand, locking in with my fingers as he runs to the green ocean with me.

“Where are we going?”

“I said you needed to wash.” He pushes me into the water, his hands submerge me and for a moment I feel as if I am going to drown.

I guess this is finally the end for me then. Warm ocean water caresses my body and I see small glimpses of my life flash in my eyes.

The man pulls me up from out of the water and lifts me up in the air effortlessly. Green water splashes from the calm sea and envelops the whole scene. I cannot tell how long I was under the water, it could have been moments or years but now I feel as light as I have ever been and so free it’s almost as if I’m naked.

The man looks at me - eyes filled with love and suddenly his whole body is many times bigger than my own. Or maybe I have just gotten smaller.

“You know son, the world is a really strange place. It can be hard to find your bearings at times and things change constantly. Sometimes you will want that change, sometimes it may come as just a bit of a shock and you will have to adjust. Just know I will always love you, no matter how the sky looks. I will always help you through whatever changes you’re going through and steer you on the right path.”

Tears fall down my face. I wipe them with my hand. For once it looks familiar. I look up at the sky as blue as the ocean’s waves.

“The sky is blue, dad.”

“Yes son, the sky is blue.”

We lived in that beach paradise for many years, and never once did I question the colour of the sky again. But I do think about those days often, with a fondness I never thought I would have. A sort of longing for that backwards world, that disgusting backwards world. I remember how it made me feel, but that does not stop my heart from wanting it nonetheless.

I oftentimes feel a twang of guilt writhe through my heart. In all that time I spent thinking about what I was going to do with my phone, never once had I thought about calling him. Yet, it is in pursuit of escaping that guilt, that I find myself dreaming of going back there.

I pray, that if I enter the world of unnatural colours again. I’ll find you dad, and maybe you will drag me back out.

I think that’s what I want.

Family is most important after all.