He jumped out of bed at 2 a.m, went to his bookshelf, and took out “The Land of Stories”, a book his mother used to read him when he was younger. It was too large for his seven-year-old hands.
He flipped through the pages of the heavy book franctically under the blankets and the torchlight. With a gasp, he stopped and his eyes squinted.
A bright shade stared at him through the glossy paper of the book; it was the same flower that had called him in the garden earlier; it seemed just as alive. He read the caption under the picture. “Prince Dorian giving Princess Meera a yellow flower.” Yellow.
Realization came to Oscar that the flower that had stared at him in the dark did not have a shade. It had a colour: It was Yellow. Embracing the book, Oscar finally laid his head to his pillow. He swooned under the light of silver moon and dreamt of yellow fields, yellow rivers, and yellow skies.
The next morning and every morning that followed, he awoke and the Yellow was gone. He cried for its return, but the now grey flower gave way to its nature, and within a few days, its petals shrivelled and eventually died in their greyness. Yellow did not visit him again. For a time at least.
Throughout the following years, Oscar only had glimpses of the faintest Yellow in his dreams. The colour seemed to haunt him like a friendly ghost, declaring its presence at its will. This frustrated Oscar, especially that no one seemed to see or even believe what he had seen. But his obsession was relentless. He spent his days roaming the fields and climbing the hills in search for the yellow that would not choose to appear but in his sleep. He found himself in constant expectancy as though waiting for a friend who would not come. This of course had its toll on his studies. He began falling behind at school and was reprimanded by his parents and teachers, who were assured he was negligent for his lack of attentiveness in class and carelessness in his chores. Fortunately and gradually, however, his sanity began to return. The Yellow’s visits eventually stopped even in his dreams, and the colour began to fade from his memory.
At the age of eighteen Oscar went on a trip with his friend Mila and a few others to camp out in nature. The site was far from the city shades and celebrated the beauty of nature’s Greys.
Oscar woke in the middle of the night. His eyes opened to the dark sky. His eyes jumped into alert as he found the aura around the moon. It was not the usual light shade of shiny Grey. It was, as he’d remembered from his childhood book, a dark shade of… Blue?
He stared at the beautiful light; his eyes attempted to disbelieve the wonder, but his heart was eager to feed off the spectacle. As its beats rejoiced in their foolish moments of joy, they remembered the dread that would follow.
He jumped to his feet then out the tent. He looked behind. Tears filled his eyes, and his throat curled into a lump that threatened to choke him. Will this insanity ever escape him? He sobbed as his thoughts exploded. He looked around him in frantic haste, and recoiled as he glimpsed the hem of his t-shirt that screamed of the Blue he desired to escape. In repulsion he took off his shirt, threw it in the stream that gurgled near, and ran into the darkness of the foliage ahead. For minutes he could not see but the Blue followed overhead. The more he ran, the faster it seemed to catch up. Crying as the hounds chanted, Oscar finally felt the world spin off its hinges as he toppled down a slope that finally obliterated his vision and eventually lost him his consciousness.
But the Blue followed him in his dreams.
[to be continued…]