Blue

Warning: This story contains themes and mentions of mental health, substance abuse, gore, and self-harm.

Sitting on the ground, he could feel the moisture of the soil seeping through his clothes, while the throbbing pain in his mouth intensified. Dark clouds loomed overhead. With great care, he dug a tiny hole in the earth, creating a final resting place for Blue. Blue was the name of his little Dwarf Gourami Blue fish, a rather unimaginative choice. For the past 3.5 years, she had been faithfully keeping him company, starting from the moment he regained the ability to walk after the accident. And just like that, Blue was no longer there, leaving an absence that was deeply felt.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the striking contrast between her iridescent blue color and the black soil. She was radiant. She was beautiful.

Out of nowhere, he felt a strong compulsion to preserve this captivating contrast. He was determined to snap a picture of what he considered to be the most stunning thing he had ever witnessed.

With his toothache temporarily pushed aside, he fished his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. One landscape photo, one portrait. Two filters that would enhance the contrast even more. It was a thing of beauty. It was repulsive. He was repulsive.

He winced in pain as his mouth throbbed, but managed to slip the phone into his pocket. His toothache was more like a persistent, pulsating discomfort that seemed to radiate throughout his entire mouth. The issue was with his gums, he thought. His entire mouth. In any case, the entire right side of it. He placed his palm on his cheek and felt the warmth radiating from his skin. For a few fleeting moments, the pressure seemed to alleviate the pain, but he was aware that he couldn’t remain in that state forever. His schedule was packed with various responsibilities.

Looking down, he saw Blue’s lifeless body sprawled out on the unforgiving, black soil.

Who was he fooling? There was nothing for him to do. Not in 4 years.

He gently covered Blue with a thin layer of black soil, feeling the earth’s coolness beneath his fingertips, and then quietly slipped away, bypassing the eulogy, and retreated inside for a comforting cup of coffee. The custom dictated that black coffee be served following a funeral. But since it was only a fish, there was no obligation to adhere to any traditions. And no one would be there to witness his efforts, so why bother trying in the first place.

The idea of having coffee seemed appealing, though. He had a craving for some coffee. But could he bear the pain in his stupid aching mouth to take a sip?

With a sigh, he decided to treat himself to a refreshing Freddo. With two shots of espresso on ice, his mouth throbbed even harder, as if it were being electrified. The pain radiated to his TMJ and his right eye, causing a throbbing sensation that quickly engulfed the entire right side of his head.

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The steady thumping of his pulse echoed in his head, filling his senses with its magnified rhythm. He ran his tongue along his teeth, feeling the smooth enamel. A strange sensation washed over him, signaling that something was out of place. Something didn’t feel quite right with one of his molars, and he couldn’t shake the discomfort. It was noticeably larger than the rest, protruding between the other teeth in his mouth. Bulging. However, that notion was utterly absurd. Teeth do not protrude or appear swollen.

With a quick dash, he galloped to the bathroom and flung open the door. As he faced the mirror, an uncomfortable pressure point suddenly emerged behind his right eye, sending a jolt through his skull. The reflection in the mirror showed everything was in order. There were no indications of protruding teeth, swollen gums, or any signs of decay. He shut his mouth and felt his teeth on the right side of his mouth. There was absolutely no room for doubt. His molar had grown disproportionately larger than his other teeth, and his reflection in the mirror was lying to him.

Popping a few aspirins, he chewed them at a leisurely pace before making his way back to the kitchen to dispose of his Freddo. For today, he’d keep it simple with a single shot of espresso. No ice. He carefully placed the pod inside the coffee maker, only to discover that the small bin was already packed with old pods that needed to be emptied. As he tossed the pods into the aluminum pod recycling bag, they spilled out and clattered onto the floor, mingling with the heaps of garbage. As he poured the leftover dirt water from the bin into the sink, his attention was suddenly drawn to something. Tiny creatures, squirming and wriggling in the sink. One, two… seven, eight. Worms? Maggots?

With a mix of curiosity and disgust, he reached for his phone and captured a close-up shot of the tiny creatures that had made a home inside his espresso machine. Two creatures, their bodies as long as his nails, wriggled ceaselessly in the air, their movements reminiscent of a fish gasping for oxygen outside of its fish tank.

Blue didn’t gasp when he removed her because Blue was already gone when he found her. She was gone, consumed by the Pleco that clung to her, relentlessly sucking on her eye until nothing remained but an empty socket. He stood there, transfixed by the fish, questioning why he didn’t take immediate action to remove Blue. It could be that he was trying to convince himself that she was really dead before he disposed of her. He always had a fear of mistakenly assuming his fish were dead, when in reality they were just peacefully sleeping. However, when Blue lost her eye, her being alive became irrelevant. The pain she would have experienced in this case was so severe that it would have been more humane to remove her from the water and suffocate her rather than allow her to live and swim with a missing body part.

He snapped another picture of the worms, marveling at their simultaneous repulsiveness and beauty in the dim light filtering through the kitchen window. Afterwards, he prepared a cup of espresso for himself without putting the bin back, and then he took a sip. Instantly, he experienced relief in his mouth, as the intense pain that had encompassed half of his head receded to a throbbing ache in his molar. He pondered, imagining that if pain had a color, it would likely be blue.

Returning to the mirror, he studied his mouth once more. With his finger, he cautiously probed the gum area around his molar but felt no pain or sensitivity. His touch on the molar itself, however, sent a jolt of pain straight to his right eye, making him wince in agony. Stupid tooth! With a sinking feeling, he realized that the pain on the right side of his face was back.

Four years ago, he was plagued by an excruciating pain in his right side. Besides his head, his shoulder and hip were also harmed. In fact, his shoulder and hip bones were shattered four years ago; his TMJ got dislocated and the skin on both limbs got scraped. Of course, this wasn’t exactly like that, even though it gave him a similar feeling. Pulling out his phone for the umpteenth time, he snapped a picture of his gaping mouth in the mirror. And then he took another one, because the first was too bright.

He believed that by monitoring the sensations in his mouth, he could accurately describe the progression of the pain to the dentist on Tuesday. A dull, lingering discomfort had marked the beginning. There was a persistent, unexciting pain that lacked any moments of intensity or relief. And today, everything changed. The thought that it was all a product of his imagination, that his toothache grew more intense today because of his grief for Blue, filled him with resentment. He scoffed at the idea, thinking that it’s absurd. Pain is not influenced by mood and does not fluctuate. Except that’s precisely how pain functions.

Four years ago, he experienced pain that seemed never-ending. Upon awakening in the hospital, he immediately realized his entire right side was in excruciating pain, leaving him immobile. It took a whole hour before someone filled him in on the car incident, leaving him in a state of bewilderment. While enjoying a leisurely stroll with his fiancé, a car on the road abruptly veered off course and collided with them. Against all odds, he had managed to survive. The love of his life had not. As soon as he heard that, all his pain melted away. He felt a numbness that extended from his heart to his fingertips.

In the months that followed, he would awaken in excruciating pain, his body jerking and twisting, as if gasping for air, the realization of his affliction slowly dawning on him. The moment he remembered she was no longer there, his agony would vanish instantly, rendering him numb to his emotions once more. Although that was not entirely true. He somehow acknowledged that the pain persisted, even though he had separated from his physical form and could no longer feel it.

He captured one last picture of his mouth before heading straight to bed, where he found a mountain of both dirty and clean clothes. In a flurry, he rummaged through the garments, desperately seeking one that retained her fragrance, then pressed it against his cheek. Every day, he felt a void without her, a yearning for her touch and her warmth. If she would just come back, he thought, she would surely reprimand him for the revolting state he had descended into. Even the roach, with its quick and silent movements, scurrying across the wall, desperately searching for a hiding spot under the nightstand, knew he was revolting.

Nevertheless, he found solace in the fact that he had his photos. Looking at his photos made him feel more connected to her. She was the more artistic of the two. She pursued a career in photography. Every day, she would cover the walls with collages made from her own photographs. Something that made them think of themselves. A memory of their shared life. In some pictures, they were captured looking directly into the camera or gazing off into the distance. In others, they may not have been visible, but there was a lingering reminder of their presence. On the coffee table, two cups sat side by side, one of them bearing a smudge of lipstick. Surprise-breakfast leftovers sat on a plate, abandoned on the unmade bed. The two matching t-shirts they got from the Billie Eilish concert in Paris, where she had mesmerized them with her live performance of “I try to live in black and white, but I’m so blue” for the very first time. That’s right, the song was called “Blue.” “Blue” was the song she loved the most. The song had stirred something inside her, prompting her to transform their new apartment walls into a calming sea of blue.

Since he started walking again, he hadn’t set foot in that apartment. Without wasting a moment, he left Paris, leaving behind his job and the house. With hope in his heart, he departed, envisioning a future where he could go back to Paris and breathe in her aroma, and peacefully pass away in that house, surrounded by a soothing blue ambiance.

Amidst the black soil, Blue had appeared remarkably vivid. He imagined now that his blackened corpse would form a vivid contrast against the blue walls in their Paris home, entertaining the idea that even in death, he could acquire a certain beauty. But until that day, he had to figure out a solution to his persistent toothache. This time, the toothache seemed to radiate from a new, unfamiliar spot in his mouth.

Once again, he found himself standing in front of the mirror, lost in his own thoughts. His mouth wide open, he continued to poke with his finger, not giving up. Without a doubt, it was another molar.

He took another picture and then reached into his pocket for a couple of aspirins, chewing them thoughtfully. In a matter of seconds, bursts of light flashed across the sky, soon followed by the distant roll of thunder.

It might be a good idea to print them out, carefully mark them with time stamps and specific symptoms, so he could easily share them with his dentist on Tuesday. He followed through with his plan, diligently placing the pictures on the wall beside the others he had taken over the past 3.5 years. It was during this time that he had immersed himself in the art of photography, longing for her presence to return, even if it was only through fleeting waves, hallucinations, or vivid dreams. But she never did, not even when he thought he could detect a hint of her perfume lingering in the house; he knew it was merely a figment of his memory.

His collection of pictures, accumulating over the years while following her old traditions, exclusively featured him, his tiny apartment, and his faithful companion, Blue. There were moments when he believed she existed within Blue, especially when the little fish eagerly approached him. And then he’d snap back to reality, forcefully shaking the thought out of his head.

Now, with Blue gone, he found himself alone with a despised black Pleco, its presence irritating him to no end. Meanwhile, the relentless throbbing of his protruding tooth persisted, resonating all the way to his right ear and his right eye socket. The feeling, stronger than ever, coursed through his right nostril and seemed to radiate throughout the entire right side of his brain.

With a sigh, he went back to the mirror, hoping for a different outcome this time. Bulging in his mouth, it stood out from the rest, as if it had suddenly become disproportionately large. However, when he looked into the mirror, he saw only regularity staring back at him, leaving him utterly perplexed. With his new extra soft toothbrush in hand, he made a deliberate decision to give his teeth the utmost attention, even flossing around that specific tooth. As he explored it with his tongue, he could feel its large and agonizing presence. When he examined it in the mirror, it looked just like any other.

As he flossed, he reassured himself that bleeding was to be expected, trying to ignore the metallic taste in his mouth. His tooth was growing, causing pressure and discomfort on the right side of his mouth. He meticulously flossed between each tooth, ensuring every crevice was clean, before nonchalantly discarding the used string onto the sink. There was an inexplicable sense of calm that washed over him as he observed the floss, tossed and adorned with random red blots.

With a gentle patter of rain on his window and a soft rumbling overhead, he returned to bed, seeking solace in the familiar scent of her lingering on a piece of clothing. The aroma in the air evoked thoughts of her, or maybe there was a lingering part of him that still retained her fragrance, after all the years they shared, even after her demise four years prior. There was another burst of light followed by rumbling that originated from afar. The rumbling sound reverberated in his mind, while his swollen tooth caused a throbbing sensations in his mouth, TMJ, and right eye.

Once again, he found himself in front of the mirror. He could sense the tooth being out of position with his tongue, but upon opening his mouth, everything seemed to be in order. He stood there, observing his molar for a considerable amount of time while it jeered at him. The size of it increased upon closing his mouth, yet when he stood before a mirror, it returned to its regular size, resembling a game of Red Light, Green Light. It expanded rapidly whenever he turned his gaze away, yet remained motionless and unyielding whenever he opened his mouth. He kept his mouth open, feeling the ache in his TMJ grow, as he gently traced his teeth with his tongue. He made an effort to avoid closing his mouth, his gaze fixed on the mirror.

Exiting the bathroom, he told the tooth it was busted. Two minutes later, he reappeared with a toolbox in hand, though it wasn’t actually his. The toolbox belonged to her, and he had taken it with him when he ran away from their permanent residence in Paris. Her toolbox held the key to relieving his aching tooth, if only he could find the right tool among its contents.

“My dentist will be furious,” he thought, but shrugged it off. The tooth was already misaligned. Following its removal and the dulling of the pain to a continuous, muted sensation, he casually discarded it onto the sink alongside the blood-soaked floss. His blood–that lingered on his tongue, reminiscent of the sharp tang of metal; just like her iron supplements had tasted when he had tried one out of curiosity–ran thick and warm from the side of his mouth.

He carefully repositioned his molar in the sink and captured the perfect snapshot. It no longer taunted him. It sat there, devoid of power, a lifeless shell. As worms wriggled in the kitchen sink, it swam in a pool of blood, while Blue, drenched by the downpour, struggled to stay grounded in the rushing rainwater.

He carefully printed the last photograph, watching as the image slowly appeared on the paper, and then he labeled it: Blue.