Just a short one-shot I wrote during the bit of free time I have.
"Hurry along, Bianca." The little girl picked up the pace, walking briskly by her mother's side. She hears heavy footsteps behind her — Bianca's father. All around her family, a crowd of gaudy colours pounds the pavement, a wave of reds, yellows, blues, and greens. They are all headed for the same destination.
Not too long after, the wave stops at a large square. Bianca was bumped forward by the crowd. Her mother grabbed her hand to steady her. She could not see what was before her. Amongst this assembly of strangers, she was like a mouse in a field of tall wheat. Bianca's father saw her jumping up and down, desperately trying to see over heads, picks her up, and carried her on his shoulder.
Light, fluffy clouds float above along a bright cerulean sky, like large white boats drifting on the ocean. Bianca's eyes reflect the sky, whose colours match, then she immediately looks away. The sun temporarily blinded her, black spots dotting her vision. She rubs them to clear her vision, just in time as a man dressed in grey walks onto the stage at the front of the square.
Grey? That couldn't be right. It wasn't a bright colour. The man's grey clothes was a stark contrast amongst the vibrancy, drab and boring. Memorial Day was supposed to be a joyous occasion — that means happiness. Happiness was compulsory. Grey does not show happiness.
Bianca's eyesight is sharp. The man looks familiar, his black hair and hooked nose and dark blue eyes echoing in her mind. She watches the man approach a round metal ball attached to the top of a black stand. He taps the ball with his finger, making a loud, muffled sound.
"Daddy, why is that man dressed in grey? Why does he look so sad?" Bianca turns her gaze away from the man and onto her father below.
"You mean our neighbour, Mr Johnson?" Her eyebrows flicked up in surprise. That was Mr Johnson? But why does he look so sad? He was normally a very cheerful person, almost like an uncle to little Bianca.
"Um, well he—" her mother shoots her husband a furious look. "Never mind Bianca."
Bianca frowned. She thought that her parents, of all people, would tell her anything she wanted to know, especially since they were both from the honest faction, "Candor", as they had informed her. Her head flicks back up towards the grey man on stage when she suddenly hears him speak.
"Good morning, citizens of Chicago." The metal ball device amplified his voice. It was so very loud, especially in the quiet city, with a clear, ringing freshness to it.
"My name is Tobias Johnson." Tobias Johnson? Bianca had always known him as Mister Johnson, the name her parents had used to introduce her to their tall, broad - shouldered neighbour. Maybe he was using his nickname or something.
"Two decades ago, a group known as the 'Allegiant' ventured out beyond the Fence, to…" Mr Johnson went on for another few minutes, reading out his speech from a piece of paper. Bianca yawned. She wanted the celebrations to get started already, when she'd be able to eat all the food she wanted at the Memorial Day fair.
"Bianca, stop fidgeting," her mother hissed.
Mr Johnson ended his speech. "…and I wish you all peace and harmony to come." The crowd around her went up in cheers, the noise thunderous and energetic. Bianca sighed. Finally, the celebrations would begin!
Her father nudged her. "Let's go for the fair, shall we?"
She nodded enthusiastically, and the family of three followed the wave out of the square to the field nearby, where the fair had been set up. Bianca pushed her questions out of her mind. She'd be able to ask Mr Johnson them later.
Bianca yawned, her eyelids threatening to close and send her to her dreams. Why wouldn't her parents hurry up and fall asleep? She thought about taking a nap, her head drooping dangerously onto the pillow, then she bolted back upright. Bianca would not let herself fall asleep — she had stay awake so she could go and ask Mr Johnson her questions.
After several moments, Bianca finally heard faint snoring from inside her parents room from where she was leaning against their closed bedroom door. She waited a few more seconds, to confirm that they were really asleep, after which she silently crept over to the front door and unlocked it. Fortunately she had learnt to use the key last year. She closed the door behind her, making sure not to cause any noise, and hurried into the elevator, pressing the "6" button.
Bianca hummed along to the elevator music as it slowly descended the floors of the apartment building. They opened on a brightly lit corridor. She exited and turned right towards Mr Johnson's apartment. Standing up on her toes, she stretched for the doorbell, reaching it after three tries.
A muffled "I'm coming" came from inside. Bianca stood outside, staring at the intricate pattern carved into the door. Before long, it swung open, revealing her neighbour dressed in a long shirt and loose shorts.
"Who…oh. It's you Bianca. What are you doing out so late? Do your parents know you're here?" Mr Johnson demanded, his eyebrows furrowing.
Bianca shook her head. "I wanna ask you some questions, Mr Johnson."
He looked at her for a moment. "Alright, come in." He held the door open for her.
Bianca trotted into Mr Johnson's apartment. It was quite spartan, with the most extravagant things she could see was a sculpture placed on a nearby table. It was blue, and looked like it was made of water, frozen in time, though she knew better that it was more likely made of glass. Bianca grinned to herself.
"Well, sit down, make yourself comfortable," Mr Johnson said. Bianca sat in one of the few chairs in his apartment, swiping her light - coloured hair out of her eyes. He drew up another one from the dining room.
"Now what is it that is so important that you had to come here in the middle of the night to ask me a question?" he asked, a light smile on his face.
"Today I saw you wearing grey. Grey is a sad colour, right? But it's supposed to be a happy day today. So why are you sad?"
Mr Johnson seemed to freeze, just like his glass sculpture. Bianca tilted her head to one side. "Is something wrong Mr Johnson?"
He stared into a space beyond her, somewhere where she had the feeling that no matter how hard she tried, she would never see it too. His eyes were glassy.
"I…" Mr Johnson didn't finish his sentence.
"What? It's not a difficult question," said Bianca. "My mum asks me loads of more difficult questions, like whether I've done my homework or if I've done my chores."
Mr Johnson looked at his hands. He sighed.
"You really want to know?" he asked her gruffly.
"Um, yes, if… if that's okay with you," she replied, nervous of Mr Johnson' sudden change in tone.
"You must promise not to tell anyone." Bianca nodded. Her parents told her to always keep her promises.
"I… was one of the Allegiant. And there was another Allegiant — my very good friend — her name was Beatrice. And… she died. That's all," he said curtly, clearly not wanting to talk about it any further.
Bianca sat there. There was more to it, she thought, but Mr Johnson would probably refuse to tell her more.
"Oh… okay Mr Johnson. Thanks for telling me." She stood up to leave, and he followed her to the door. As she walked, she passed by a photograph on the wall, one she had not seen when she had entered Mr Johnson's apartment.
It was a picture of a girl, a girl with blonde hair, greyish - blue eyes, and a wide smile. Next to her was a younger Mr Johnson, his arms around her.
"Who is that, Mr Johnson?"
He sighed again. "That is Tris. It's a photograph from… a very long time ago." It felt as if he had suddenly aged twenty years as when he spoke.
Bianca reached the doorway. Mr Johnson turned the knob on the door, and after a few turns, it opened. She stood at the open doorway, unmoving. She had this deep gut feeling; something inside her told her that she needed to find out more.
"Aren't you going home now?" he asked, kneeling down so that he was eye-level with her.
Bianca looked up at the photograph on the wall. She knew the answer. She just needed Mr Johnson to confirm it.
"Mr Johnson, you and Tris…"
"Alright Bianca, I think that's enough," Mr Johnson cut her off. Inwardly, she smiled. Her question had been answered.
Bianca nodded. "Bye Mr Johnson! Thanks a lot!" she called, taking off for the elevator.
Mr Johnson watched her disappear around the turn in the corridor before retreating back inside his apartment.
He places a hand on the photograph. "She looks a lot like you," he whispers.