Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. They belong to J.K. Rowling and who owns the rights. This story has not been written for profit, but for fun.
I am not a native English speaker. I am Italian.
Enjoy!
Blue
Once upon a time there was a child.
He lived in an old house. Dark. Sharp. A glass house. Grey. Everything was made of glass. The walls were made of glass. The floor. Furniture there was none. The house was a shell of grey glass, and the child lived there as a chick inside an egg of nothing.
No one else lived in that house. The child was alone. He passed whole days sitting in the grey, motionless. In silence. Because he was alone. Because no one else in the world could see him. He was alone. And he stood there, silent, sheltered by a glass shrine.
He wanted to escape. He wanted to see the world. He wanted to go out and shout to everyone that he was there. That he existed. And opening the wings he could fly in the sky. Far away. Far from his grey glass house. Far. Touching the clouds. Visiting countries full of colour, with flowers, butterflies, fishes!
But he could not.
The walls of that house were smooth, perfect, impenetrable. There were no windows. There were no doors. He could not get out. He could not escape. He could not see any colour if not that perfect grey that surrounded him. Why? Why could he not get out? There were so many different colours out there... He knew that. He had seen them. In his dreams. Colours that even an angel would not have been able to describe. Banks of indigoes that swam in the air. Endless flocks of singing yellows sailing on large green leaves. And the reds. The reds that jumped happy here and there among the pink and white flowers. The orange, that bounced along with colourful butterflies. And the blue! The boy adored the blue. His way of slipping along the paths of the light wind, his warm arms wrapped around him huddling and cuddling him. But it was a dream. And every time he opened his eyes, the child could only see grey. Grey everywhere.
Why? Why no one freed him? He had been abandoned. Everyone had abandoned him. No one knew he was there. And nobody, nobody would have ever come to take him away. And then the sadness and bitterness and pain took over. And the colours faded. Slowly. They sadly faded into the grey of the house. And the child felt hot tears caressing his cheeks. But even those were grey. Grey like everything else. Were his eyes grey too? And his hair? And his skin? Everything was stained with tears.
He wanted to see the flowers. He wanted to see the sky.
He wanted the blue. The blue. Sparkling and comforter, which rocked him to sleep. Where was the blue?
Why no one saw that child trapped in the fog? Why?
He wanted to scream. Yelling. Call for help. But he had no voice. Because the child was mute. There was no word in his chest. There were no windows in the house. There were no doors. Neither light. Neither dark. Neither voice. And then the child huddled up drinking his own tears. Because there was no water in the house. Fresh and gurgling water. The child had never seen it. He only knew the salty and bitter taste of tears and grey. The child had never heard it. He only heard the sound of his own sobs and the silence of grey.
Blue. Where was the blue?
The blue was gone.
The day came when the boy closed his eyes and saw only black. Black and dark. Where were the coloured dreams? They too had abandoned him?
Who had stolen his dreams? There was no one in that house. Only him. He alone. Himself.
The black of his dreams became the black of his nightmares. And the red. The boy hated that red. It was not the playful and happy red of his dreams, no. It was dark, dense, warm. The child was afraid. That red and that black stuck on his skin like parasites and he could not escape. He could not escape.
The blue... where was the blue?
And the child cried. He cried. That red hurt. It burned his skin. That black hurt. It burned his heart. His tears were not colouring anything with grey anymore, they faded into nothingness, swallowed by black and red. The child no longer felt their bitter taste, but the metallic and sickly sweet one of the red.
The child could not cry anymore. He could no longer breathe. He had no fear. He wanted to leave. Leave at any cost.
He began to push the walls of the nightmare that gripped him. He pushed. He pushed harder and harder. He wanted to wake up. It was just a nightmare. Only a nightmare...
Grey. Grey welcomed him. Exhausted and panting. He had managed to escape. He had managed to wake up. The black. The red. He had left them behind his eyelids, but he knew they were still there, ready to catch him as soon as sleep caught him again.
He wept. The child wept. Because he knew that he could never escape his nightmares. That he could never escape from his grey glass house. He cried because he knew he would never again regained his colourful dreams. He knew that evil black and red had killed them forever. As he tried he never, never would have seen the colours of his dreams. Never. Only the grey when he was awake. And the black and the red when he slept.
He cried because he was alone.
He cried, because everybody had left. His parents. His friends.
He cried because no one would ever notice he was there.
He cried because no one cared.
He cried.
He cried and his tears began to tinkle like the consoling sound of silver. And blue. Blue, they became blue. Blue stars shining behind the silver, smiling.
The boy was astounded. But yes. Yes, that was just blue. Those were two blue smiling stars. They smiled. Smiled at him!
The child felt warm hands gently wipe the tears away. Strong arms wrapped him up and cradled him.
It was the blue. His blue! He was back!
The boy crouched in that cloak of colour, under the sweet paternal smile of the blue stars. He sank into the heat full of affection. He had no fear now. Now he knew that the blue had not forsaken him. He knew he was there, ready to greet him and smile at him and chase the nightmares away. The colours of his dreams had died, but the blue was true. And for the child the blue was enough.
Strange story this one. I don't know where it came from...
I think you all understand who is the child. What, or rather, who represents blue. And the black and red nightmares. I do not know why I gave it a fairytale setting.
In theory, the child lives in a mirror. I do not know if any of you have understood it. It is not clear from the story, but I tell you.
I hope you enjoyed.
Review, please!