Colours of Times

I stare into the clear water; my pale reflection showing on the crystal, still water. A school of multi-coloured fish are swimming; weaving through and tangling themselves in one another; catching my eye. Their dappling scales glint in the sunlight, throwing rainbows through the transparent sheet painted by the water. Away from the mixed crowd of multi-coloured hues, is a marble, grey-black fish; its distinctive colouring catching my eye. The sea animal is almost undistinguishable from the surrounding water, and the grey rocks beneath it.

 

A sole white splash is streaked through its head, cutting a line through the grey-black. It is swimming in a lonely circle, not joining the other fishes at the middle of the pond. I laugh humourlessly; though my mind is begging for me to shatter the wall blocking my emotions and return to the normal me. As the sadness hits me, my frozen demeanour crumbles for a moment before it is forced back up by me. I feel like that fish; abandoned, alone, emotionally unable to handle close contact.

 

I have noticed that fish before, it isn’t normal. And I have always left it alone, until now; when these feelings are running through me. I lift a forearm, allowing the white sleeve of my shirt to fall back. A selection of red, scabbed cuts are running along the skin. I shudder as the familiar sensation of pain lances up my arm, making me shiver. For some crazy reason, the pain makes me feel better; makes me feel normal, like as if I am just like everybody else.

 

I remove my finger, stopping it from tracing the red cut, and from reopening the month-old wound. It is too late, I realize, as I notice the thing trickle of liquid red starting to drip from a cut. The pain is nothing new; I became immune to the sensation and the need to drop to the floor howling as soon as I felt the same stir. I press the limb to my body, staining the cream-coloured shirt scarlet, dying a patch of the soft cloth red. I feel nothing new; just the same feeling of dulled pain, and worry of anyone noticing it. I stare back into the clear water, and notice that a white, silvery-coloured fish has joined the black one. I stare in wonder, and something clicks in my head.

 

I will myself to calm, forcing the dulling pain completely away, and see the white fish move away, to hover in the transparent liquid in between the black fish and the shoal of others. I stare at the effect, the control. I know why. Of course I do, it was impossible not to know how I had done that. Other scenes conquer my mind, breaking through the impeccable defence I had built to protect myself. I see your face; you are mad, mad at me. Sadness and grief washes through me, and a sliver of confusion slips along with it. I don’t understand.

 

Feeling like a blow to the stomach, the scene disappears, and in its place, another slots in. Now, rage and hate tirades through me, directed at you. My hands rip up something, the colours on it are blurred, but I have a good idea of what is on them. Another part of my mind; the one I can still control consciously, is tiring. It is being weakened by the relentless flow of emotions that flood me, uncontrolled.

 

Now, the fish are in a mess, they are tangling their elegantly long tails and fins with each other as they weave around the restricted area in a frenzied pace. My mind is spinning out of control, I feel emotions muddling together, as they flash from one to another in a matter of seconds. I grip my head, trying to rip my dark hair out in anguish, then confusion, then rage, and finally defeat.

A sharp pain suddenly hits me, extending from my heart out, piercing my lungs, then slowly poisoning my arms and legs, paralyzing me.

 

I notice the pond in my frenzy, and I see all those fish, upturned. They are dead, and so am I. I was never alive, if I could have seen my emotions. I am dead, and I feel nothing. I wonder where I am, my physical body, at least; and I know that I will never know that. … Never,

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