Coloured--Abigail

Blue. Everywhere she looked, up, down, she saw blue. Blue filled her eyes, her ears, her mouth, her lungs. She kept falling into the abyss that was blue, but she knew no one would be there to catch her, to hear her final scream and feel her last breath. She was suffocating and there was nothing she could possibly do. It didn’t matter how much she clawed and kicked, the top was too far to reach. The thought alone seemed to weigh heavily upon her and seemed to help drag her down. Luckily, the blue was fading, and the darkness promised to cocoon her in warmth. Smiling, she closed her eyes as she snuggled into the impending shadow.
Grey was the day they found her. The clouds did not rumble, they did not thunder or boom. They simply wept. She was sleeping, her bed cold, and wet as she was delivered to them. Smiling, her face was as grey as the ash in the fireplace. Silver rained down from her mother’s eyes and her father’s face turned to stone. Once she was small and warm, colourful and lively. Now she lay swollen, frigid and pallid. They wept as the official men zipped her into a grey bag and sealed her in a metal box.
Black. The sea of black was silent. It parted in two to make way for the men carrying the little black box. The man with the black robes gave a solemn speech about the girl smiling in the box. The girl whose favorite colour was blue, but was now draped in black. Her bed was no longer wet, but was now white. He said her head now rested on a cloud and a golden ring crowned her head. He painted a picture so bright and pretty but none of the colour could fill the black void inside the parents. No silver ran from the mother’s eyes, as she began to feel the emptiness swallow her whole.
The wake followed the little black box out to the sun. The day was bright, it was warm, but the people were blue. Miserable and somber, they lowered the little girl into the darkness that would be her home. The birds sang a happy tune as an ocean tossed in blue flowers, beautiful, but never to be appreciated. Little by little, the ocean became a lake, which then became a drop. The man piled and piled dirt until it was time for him to go home. The girl was finally alone.
Moons passed and visitors left. But the little girl remained in the darkness while blue flowers grew on her grave. Never afraid, because her parents had joined her, silent and solemn.