The Blue Spark

Depression. Sadness. Discontentment. 

All of these emotions and more of the type can be found on Velos, everywhere and anywhere. That is because there are no other emotions. Not in this godforsaken world, anyway. 

I come back to my senses, accidentally knocking over a cardboard box near my elbow. As the cloud of thick grey dust settles over the disorganized attic, I cough, clearing my throat of the puffy substance of time, loneliness and nostalgia. A white light filters in through the black tinted windows, monochrome like everything else in the world. I shift the boxes at my feet, flipping through pages of spiky handwriting from another time.

Ever since the event known as the  “Absorption” happened, happiness is rarely found. At least for the people still on the face of our planet, Velos. My grandmother, one of the only people I know to have lived through the horrible event, used to tell me wonderful stories of a paradise far away above the clouds, impossible to reach yet possible to hope for. According to legend, one day happiness would be brought back in unexpected ways. Well, nothing has happened yet. At least not for the last 30 years. Yet one small part of my heart that isn’t frozen by sadness yearns for something greater than the life that I have. 

In all of my twelve years on Velos, the only thing that I have done each and every day is to read. Reams of paper congregated to form one thick book that supposedly contains all the knowledge in the world. What I don’t understand is how the book contains people who can feel real, living happiness, when the world around me is so cold and grey. Not just any grey - the miserable, melancholy kind that wants to make you claw your heart out to prevent feeling it. 

I brush my long, brown locks back from my face, and crouch down to the boxes once more, the sleeves of my black blouse stretching ever so tighter. I flip the top open, and instead of the usual spiking handwriting of journal entries detailing the same endless days over and over, I discover a sheet of music. Real, handwritten music. The lines and boxes that form the chords seem to twirl under my gaze as I brush off the decades of grime. What I find next takes the breath out of me. It’s a picture, a real color one, of a beautiful meadow and two people standing amidst the flowers, laughing. Jealousy washes over me as I hug the picture to my chest, willing some of the color to seep into me. 

But there’s also something else - a faint whiff of something magical, beautiful, and unique. I gently caress the music between my fingers, and suddenly, it happens. A faint glimmer of bright blue shows on the side of the paper, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. My breath halts in my chest, and my eyes become wide. I watch, breathless, as the glimmer gets stronger and stronger, and eventually becomes a little stream of rainbow, weaving its way around the paper, as if someone had cut a tear into my monochrome world and poured a bucket of paint into it.

As much as I wanted it to be real, it would never be. It could never be true. It might have been 30 years ago, but not now. Not after all the rich and powerful people took the world’s happiness for themselves, and used the beautiful, living power of it to build their city above the sky. Not after the years of sadness and desperation, chaos and anger on the face of Velos, the planet that had been left behind to rot away in despair. Not after the event that had torn any idea of a normal childhood from me.

Dropping my head into my hands, I collapsed onto the floor, frustrated at how everyone had let Velos become what it is now. My thoughts spiral and ignite, slowly building an inferno that I cannot contain. I thump my fist down, hard, into the floor, and I can almost hear the attic floorboards creaking. 

A single, pearlescent tear streaks down my cheek, and I brush it away, watching it seep into the coldness of the grey floor. Suddenly, my chest is filled with the overwhelming pressure of sadness, and the feeling is so strong that I could feel it pulsing against the back of my eyes, wanting to burst out. 

It comes out in a new, brighter, spark of blue, flickering in the air before slowly disappearing. It lights up again, just a little way from where it last was. It continues to flicker and dance, teasing me to join it in a game of tag. All my anger disappears, and I get shakily to my feet, hand reaching out to touch the magical piece of colour that had burst from the inside of me. 

Just as my fingers reach it, it dances away, as bright and playful as a firefly. I draw in a breath, and slowly tiptoe after the fragment of light. It flits around the room, flickering in and out of existence, eventually stopping at a black, lumpy case propped against the far side of the attic wall. In my head, I can hear a deep voice calling out my name:  “Ayla! Ayla Asher! We’ve been waiting for such a long time!”. My footsteps echo against the floor as I cross the cramped attic.

I pick up the case slowly, feeling its weight, brushing off the dust. Something glints in the hazy afternoon light filtering through the rheumy windows. A silver buckle on the side of the case reflects my sullen face as I look into it, my hair hanging in sheets around my torso. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I slowly unclasp the rusted contraption. The battered case flips open slowly, creaking on the age-old hinges. 

Inside, pristine and beautiful, lies a guitar. It was clearly once cherished and loved dearly, for someone had meticulously painted flower designs next to the soundhole. It looked as though it were young and old at the same time; the polish chipped in places yet all the pieces intact. I gingerly lift it out, and pluck one of the dust-covered strings.

The sound rings out in the packed attic, and a cloud of dust emerges from the string. But that was the least of my concerns. As soon as the sound rang out, that same spark of blue light danced back into being. My fingers reach around the light, capturing the evanescent fragment between my index finger and thumb. The moment my skin touches the spark, I feel a buzz of warmth in my heart, and I laugh out loud, something that I had never even dreamt of before.

As soon as the feeling comes, it disappears, leaving me empty and hollow on the inside moments after I had felt true happiness. I sigh, and sit back down on the floor, the guitar in my lap. Then, suddenly, the same deep voice calls out again, this time an iota more demanding and condescending.  “Ayla Asher! We’ve been waiting so long for you to set us free!” 

My head jerks upwards, and I look around, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw a pale white shadow of a man wearing a leather coat looking down at me. Dust. Silence. There is nothing and no one in the attic except me. My breath disturbs the air in front of me, and I focus back on the guitar, following the urgings from the mysterious voice. 

The sheet of music snaps to the front of my mind, as if it had been waiting all along. I gently set down the guitar, and walk over to it. The chords seem to taunt me, and I set it down next to the guitar. My fingers flit into position on the fretboard, as if I had been playing for years and years. My right index finger and my thumb clamp together, my movements almost mechanical, making me think that maybe, I am just a marionette in a world of my own dreams.

The first C chord is horrible, clashing against my eardrums and reverberating around the room. I play, again and again, until my fingers dance across the frets like a ballerina and my nail has the imprint of guitar strings etched into it. The same, fuzzy, burning sensation fills me, and I once again laugh. The music fills a void in me I never knew I had, and without knowing it, the hours stretched by, a blur of laughter and delight.

The next time I look up, it is late evening, and a crowd of smiling people have congregated around me. I recognise my parents, my best friend Hazel, and even the extra cranky old man who lives around the corner. I look at them, old and young, beautiful and homely, and there is only one similarity between them. The shared happiness, the feeling of hope, and the delight on their faces.

So, under their expectant gazes, I keep playing on into the night, and all around me, I can hear gasps of delight and happiness as more and more people burst into grins. Without even knowing it, without even consciously thinking about it, I had brought happiness into the bleak world around me. For a second, I see the shadow of the man in the leather jacket again, and he waves merrily before becoming the blue spark, flitting out the window, up, up, up, until he is lost to the stars that wink down on me.

I turn my gaze to the buildings down the street, and what I see takes my breath away. The windows and bricks are all different shades of the rainbow, glittering under the bright moonlight. I swivel my head, and see my parents smiling down at me.  

  “Ayla - you did it. You brought back the happiness, my love.” My mother smiles down at me, her eyes a brilliant swirl of caramel and gold. For a moment, I just bask in her praise, but then another, sharper thought breaks through to the top of my mind. 

“Do you mind packing some food for me, mom? I’m leaving tomorrow morning.” I direct my words to my mother, and fold into my dad’s waiting arms. The thing I loved most about my parents was how much they knew me. I would never rest until I knew the planet was loved and cared for, my parents always said. I wouldn’t let out a breath until I knew that all of Velos was permeated with joy.

No matter what challenges I faced, I would always keep going. Everyone deserved the feeling of happiness, living above the clouds or not. Even if only one, singular girl believed in it, it would happen. It would take years, perhaps, to travel the planet and spread the word, but I knew that someone was already on the task. The man in the leather jacket. The blue spark.

Happiness. Laughter. Hope.