Author’s Note: Hi! This is a very weird story I decided to go with, I hope you enjoy it. First real attempt at a romance, so tell me how I did. Also: NOTE FOR ALL Y’ALL WHO GO ON LIKE SPREES: I personally think that likes are nice, but comments and critiques are much more helpful! I kind of hate it when people just go on random liking sprees. I’d appreciate it much more if you took the time to read and give feedback. Points are nice but at the end of the day, improvement is better! OK, that’s all, have a good time reading. This will probably be my only story this week because I'm working on two projects right now.
Blue: The Colour of Liberation
A Romantic Short Story by Ana Govindasamy
Trigger Warnings/Disclaimers: Attempted Suicides and Depression
Red. The colour of danger, of rage. Red stained my hands as I plunged them into clear purity, washing away the sins. Then I was sucked under by the deep blue. The swirling death and decay.
Then I saw black. The absence of light. The presence of hopelessness.
That day was two years ago. Two years since I jumped onto the rocks, moss and seaweed snaking through the cracks, slipping me up. And it was two years since that fishing boat caught a corpse, black-and-blue bruises speckling her body. Two years since the screaming sirens and blue lights.
It’s been two years and I still haven’t recovered.
Because it hasn’t been two years since the last time I tried to kill myself.
It’s been two months.
After that day, I realised how idiotic I was for jumping. It’s too public. People know too quickly. You need to be more discreet. If there’s anything I’ve learnt over the past few years it’s that I can't tie a knot, I can't do basic maths and I’m bad at planning.
Despite my numerous fails, I would've tried again last month if I hadn’t met you.
That day in the library. You asked me a question, I think it was if we had the new book by your favourite author. I didn’t hear; I was too lost in your deep blue eyes, your galaxy dyed hair. Any other day, the galaxy would’ve reminded me I was just a meaningless speck of dust in the universe. That I was useless and would never amount to anything, mean anything to anyone. But in your context it reminded me that I was part of something bigger, I was born from celestial matter, as old as the earth itself.
You opted to manually take your books out, as opposed to the machines. Your library card said “Stella Rigalez”. As if you could have a more fitting name. You left me fantasizing over you and your sapphire-sea eyes, your seraphic hair.
You came back the next week. Then your visits became more regular. We got to know each other. You worked at NASA, you loved space and the idea of extra-terrestrial life, of the creation of the universe. I did too. I didn’t know as much as you. You inspired me, though. So, when I gathered the courage to ask you, it might've been a stumbling mess, but you agreed all the same.
That night I made a list. What did I know about you? Well, you were pescatarian and lactose-intolerant, so I decided to rule out dinner. I didn’t know your taste in movies, so that was ruled out too. We could go on a walk. But there was really only one place that was truly appropriate for a date, and that was the beach. That place held too many bad memories.
Then I struck gold.
Stargazing. It’s a wonder I didn’t think of it sooner.
The day rolled around. You arrived. We set up chairs, drinks. Laughed the night away. Silver streaked the inky blue. I felt secure in your presence. You watched the stars. I watched you. Your delicate smile, the gleam of moonlight on your eyes, deep lakes I was drowning in. Your hair, a mirror image of the natural beauty hanging over us.
“I love you, Stella.” The words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Your laugh told me I had nothing to worry about. You responded, “I love you too, Abbi.”
You reached out for my hand, and I grabbed it. Security and freedom coursed through my veins. The chapter of life where blue was a sign of weakness is over.
Blue is the colour of liberation.