Abyssal Light Part 2: Colours

By Drishti Dattatreya Rao

Bright warm orange – the colour of my alarm.

That’s the colour I wake up to. 

I open my eyes. The silly tune no longer carries its silliness anymore.

I turn off my alarm, stretch and get out of bed. It’s the daily routine. Brush teeth, get ready for school, and head to the kitchen for breakfast. It just repeats.

Soft coral red – the colour of whispered arguments.

Mom and Dad are fighting again.

I tiptoe closer to their bedroom door. I could barely make out the words, but the colour of their voices made it clear that it was them who were fighting.

Their voices – pistachio green (Dad) and carolina blue (Mom) – had  a soft red undertone.

“They’re telling us that they don’t think she’s waking up. Can’t you understand that they want us to give them permission to pull the plug on her?” Mom said, red growing a bit stronger in her voice.

“I know what they’re saying!” Dad said, his voice still less red than Mom’s. “I’m just saying, wouldn’t it be better if they did pull the plug? We’d be a happier family, we could leave this all behind us,” he added, voice growing softer and the red was replaced by mauve and cream.

Mauve – he’s scared. Cream – he’s hopeful.

They’re talking about Nina. Why is he hopeful? Does he want her gone? Is he the reason why she jumped off the terrace of the apartment?

“You’re saying we give up on the child that brought us happiness before I was able to conceive?" Mom said, trying to keep her voice soft. The red in her voice was more vivid.

Dad didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Mom sighed and tried to calm herself down.

I quickly ran into the kitchen, where the trash bin was. I threw the granola bar wrapper into the trash. I didn’t need it after all. I ran to the front door, where my shoes were kept in the cupboard next to it. 

Bright, blinding lime yellow – the colour of my school bus honking and making a ruckus outside.

I don’t want to be late for the bus, I thought. I ran through the front door, my shoes in hand and my bag weighing down on my arm.

I reached in time, thank goodness. I didn’t want to hear the chili-red, angry voice of the bus assistant yelling at me.

I sat in my usual seat – two rows in front of the back, one seat away from the window. I placed my bag on the seat next to the window. For Nina – even if she’s not here – I thought. I wore my shoes. The texture of my socks against my fingers tasted like oranges in my mouth.

I sat back, relaxing my body against the seat, which tasted like chewing gum.

Yes, I have synesthesia, yes, I was born with it, and no, and it isn’t painful – just annoying at times.

I closed my eyes. Looking out the window pained me too much. Nina loved doing that, after all.

Now I wonder, was she looking for an escape, or was she judging the height and security of buildings, or was she just enjoying the outside world?

I opened my eyes again – Just in case we reached school, or maybe because I didn’t want these thoughts to linger.

I looked around. Everyone had someone to talk to – Friends, siblings, acquaintances, love interests, romantic partners, even the teacher on the bus – and what about me? Where did my older sister go? Is she coming back? I long to hear the carmine-coloured and strawberry-flavoured sound of her voice.

Lost in my thoughts, I never realised we were at school and everyone was getting off.

I got up and headed toward the school grounds. Such a long wait for a place that stank of lemons, gave me pangs of acid green, tasted like moldy bread and felt like metal under my fingernails.

I walked into class. 

Almonds – the taste of whispers and rumours.

Everyone knew about the selectively mute girl with synesthesia. 

They never really cared to ask why I chose to be mute though. They just believed that I should belong in a freakshow of sorts. I honestly didn’t mind the insults or the bullying. They just tasted like cloves and smelled like carnations.

Funny, despite the bullying and insults and jokes none ever seem to be as beautiful as carnations.

I sat in my seat – back, away from everyone. I don’t want to become close to people who could leave me alone too.

School is as it always is – Boring, stressful, full of nasty colours and nasty-smelling voices.

Only a few people have nicely coloured and nicely smelling voices. One of them was my sister.

No, stupid. Nina’s still alive! One of them IS my sister! Say that!

Finishing the weekly routine at school, I went home. It was silent – so silent that you could hear the antique-white colour of a pin drop.

I changed into my home clothes – or rather, Nina’s clothes. They remind me of Nina. They make me feel closer to her.

I walked toward the hospital. The staff knew my appearance by heart – a very young girl in oversized clothes with black hair and green eyes. Sadly, none of them knew my name. 

Everyone always told me that my name was weird. At least at that time I had my sister to support me. Now I just resign myself to calling me Sarah.

I walked into the hospital room. The rooms always smelled like canary-yellow – or chlorine as you call it. The heart monitor beeped with in the foul smell of rotten food. The IV drip tasted of sea water.

I looked at the figure in the bed. The same figure that made carmine not look like blood anymore, the same figure that made me like strawberries without knowing that her voice was one. 

Here she lay, like a dead body. And like a dead body, she refused to get up.

I sat on a stool next to her bed. Mom and Dad barely visit her anymore. Mom always cried when she did. Dad always looked guilty.

I took a deep breath. My voice, once celeste-blue, now sounded like a rusty door hinge.

“Hey Nina,” I said.

It’s difficult to talk to a person who seems to be awake and dead at the same time.

Her pallid body lay still – not a flinch, not a smile, not a sound. All the colour and taste had fled, never to be seen again.

I told her about my day. What else was I supposed to do? I just prayed that she would wake up, hug me, and tell me everything would be okay again.

Alas, that never happened.

In a moment of silence, I wondered what she was thinking in that mind – full of colour that never revealed itself.

I sighed and got up. If I stayed any longer I would’ve cried. I didn’t want that. I needed my composure. No need to mourn a person who isn’t dead.

I walked back home.

Flaxseeds – the taste of soft crying.

I looked around the house. Mom was somewhere here; her cry had the colour of Carolina blue.

I found her in her room. I sat down next to her. “What’s wrong Mama?” I asked.

She looked up. Her eyes were red and puffy.

“Oh dear, your father left us. He said that watching a comatose girl is making him sick. He wanted to pull the plug on her,” she said.

Was taking care of her sickening, or was watching her like a creep sickening? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I took care of her. He never visited.

I blinked. That pistachio-coloured man could be heading to the hospital to pull the plug. 

I called the hospital and told them our dilemma. They understood perfectly well. I asked them not to let him near Nina. She doesn’t deserve to die yet – not until I was sure she was actually dead.

I told mom what I did. She probably didn’t listen, but I didn’t care. I walked back to my room to do my homework. After homework, I usually drew.

Now that Nina’s not here, I don’t think I can touch a pencil without getting reminded of who taught me to write, draw and read. Instead, I just lay flat in my bed. It was comfortable. The ceiling, completely devoid of colour, had a surreal, calming effect on me. It’s probably that I associate bed with sleep and the ceiling is right above it – but I liked to think it’s because there’s no taste, colour, scent, texture or sound.

In a short time, I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was around midnight.

It’s normal for me to go to sleep without dinner, but if I wake up, I’ll be as hungry as an American pygmy shrew. 

I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. The warm orange light made me hear the sound of waterfalls.

No, if I see the colour that I associate with something, I won’t be reminded of that thing. In this case, the warm orange light does not remind me of my alarm, despite my alarm being the same colour.

I looked at the boxes of food, most of them empty. My eyes landed on the box of lasagna. Sure, it might be last month’s, but if it passed the smell test, then it was safe to eat.

I took a long sniff at the lasagna. It still smelled like English violet, so I guessed it was safe to eat. I took a little bite. Usually, the taste of lasagna made me smell alstroemerias, a certain variety of which have a faint scent. Otherwise, they have no smell. I smell the ones that do.

The lasagna still tasted like alstroemerias. I decided to eat in Nina’s room, just for the feeling of being close to her again.

I sat on my favourite spot on the floor, right next to the head of her bed. I sat there and ate the lasagna. The pillow still smelled of her perfume, despite it being two weeks since Nina was in that bright hospital room.

I sat there, eating, fighting tears – fighting every emotion I had to hold back.

I need to stay strong for Mom. For Nina.

I finished eating and sat there for a while longer. I looked around, trying to find things she would like me to find. My eyes fell on a leather book, its title embossed I gold. My Diary, it read. I slowly took it off the shelf. I had never seen this book.

Falu red – the colour of dusty things.

Marmalade – the smell of leather.

I opened it and saw the first page.

“This book belongs to: Nina Rivera”

And below that, written in Nina’s handwriting:

“If anything happens to me, give this book to: Scarletta Rivera”

Well, I guess that “anything” already happened. So I should, legally, get this book – To understand why she decided to jump off the terrace.

I took it and kept it in my room. It was far too late to read it right now.

I washed the box of lasagna and headed back to my room. After packing my school bag, I thought it was time to go to sleep. Of course I left the diary on my table, because I didn’t want any school bullies trying to throw it in the toilet.

Warm orange.

Ah, to begin anew again.

I got ready faster. I didn’t want a close call, after all.

Turn off the alarm, stretch, get out of bed, brush teeth, get ready for school, and eat breakfast. Could I be stuck in some sort of Groundhog Day?

Alas, I was not. I wouldn’t want to be either. If I had to be stuck in Groundhog Day, I would want to be stuck in the day before Nina fell down this spiral. Even if it would drive me insane, I don’t care. I want to see her smile once more. Her happiness is mine too.

I waited outside my house. The bus could come anytime now.

Such a chilly morning – it probably is mirrored my father’s heart. Looking back, he really enjoyed people suffering. I don’t know what Mom saw in him. He’s probably why Nina committed suicide. I hope Mom divorces him and she gets all custody.

My raging thoughts warmed me up. I had finally decided to wear Nina’s lucky jacket, yes, but I felt extra warm at the thought of our father begging on his knees to see his us again. That also put a sinister smile on my face.

I slapped myself. I’m becoming like him. I don’t want to.

The bus came to pick me up. I walked inside the bus. A few girls and boys gasped. Was it my emotion, or was there something on my face? Was it my bag – was it open? Or was it my tired look that they never noticed? No, none of the above. They gasped at something else entirely, and I was soon about to face the consequences for it.

I sat in my usual seat. I stared at the jacket’s sleeves. I flipped them inside out – but only a little. Blood. On the sleeves. It wasn’t my blood.

I remember seeing scars on Nina’s arms. The doctor even commented on it.

Nina had been trying and failing. If she spoke to me about what was going on – or if I had truly paid attention – she’d probably still be here.

Looking through it all, her voice was spikier than usual toward the end. How could I only see this now? Was it that I didn’t care? Or was it that it was always there so I never thought about it? Is it my fault that I wasn’t able to understand? If I had found her sooner, she would’ve still been awake and talking, why did I take so long? Will I ever see her again?

I shook the thoughts away. I had more important things – like getting off the bus because we reached school.

School, once again, was very boring. So boring that I fell asleep for three periods straight. Thankfully, the teachers didn’t call me out. They know about Nina, but after I woke up they advised me to study at home – and get more sleep. I seriously don’t understand that logic, but whatever.

Home is where sadness thrives, I thought.

I changed into Nina’s clothes and wore her lucky jacket again. Imagine a seven-year-old walking into a hospital wearing clothes that hung off her small frame – there’s no parent with her, and she wants to see a comatose patient. How would you react? Of course you let her in! Their family life is not your concern.

Walking into Nina’s room felt exhausting. She brought the light into my sadness – and what did I do for her? Nothing! I’m as useless as a pair of swimming trunks that dissolve in water.

I sat on the stool. Mom was here. I could faintly smell her perfume. I never liked it – it always made me feel like slimy things were under my feet, but she loved it – so I won’t judge.

Mom only visits Nina if something big happens.

The thought hit me like a truck. Sure, she could’ve been here telling Nina about her fight with Dad, but Nina never liked him, so Mom never talked about him to her. I was their “counselor” or whatever. So, what was Mom here for?

I took a deep breath. I was here to talk to Nina, not solve a mystery.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes longer, I finally spoke.

“Nina, I found your diary. You wrote that if something happens to you, I should have it. Well, something did happen to you… I was wondering what led you to this being your only option, so I came here to tell you that I was going to read it. I… haven’t touched it much, but I will today. So that I can understand you, and then help you – if you ever wake up.”

The talking was over. I sighed. I didn’t want to leave, but if I stayed, I would cry until I couldn’t feel anything anymore. 

I reached home and started finishing my homework. I don’t like incomplete things.

Was it my hatred for incomplete things that led Nina to suicide?

I pushed the thought away. I finished my homework and started with studying what the teachers told me to study. I have to listen to them, don’t I?

Was it that I was such a goody-two-shoes that Nina couldn’t bear it? Is that why she left?

I buried my thoughts. I don’t need them now.

Was I the problem? Or was someone else?

I didn’t listen. Even if I was staring at the wall, doing nothing, I wasn’t going to touch it yet.

I need to know! I need closure! I can’t be left like this! She was practically my parent!

I wouldn’t listen.

Open the diary! She wanted you to know what was wrong – that’s why it’s addressed to you!

I caved. It’s very easy for me to cave. Especially when it’s about Nina.

I opened the book. Falu red engulfed me, or dust filled my senses. I coughed and sneezed, but I still proceeded to flip through every page, reading intently as if it were a storybook and not a diary.

The diary was suffocating. It described everything I wasn’t able to see – and things I was too blind to notice. Nina was bullied relentlessly, online and offline. She felt as if she wasn’t useful anymore because no adult seemed to care. Mom and Dad were busy spending time with me, where I was described as “their blood-born,” She wrote about surviving a house fire that none of us knew about, and she felt guilty that she was the only one who survived. She wrote about her identity confusion, and how she seemed to only be a ghost in school – how all her friends pushed themselves away from her.

Two entries caught my eye. In one of them, Nina wrote about Dad making her his puppet in schemes. She wrote about him going through her diary in the night, using her insecurities against her. She felt as if she had no free will.

The second one was about me. Nina wrote about me making her days better, even when they didn’t feel like it. She wrote about hiding her pain from me so that I could have a better life than hers. She wrote about giving me subtle hints, but I never seemed to understand. She felt powerless because asking me directly would be too much on me – and because I couldn’t understand her hints, she felt like her safe space was only temporary. 

She wrote, and I quote, “Well, I guess it’s for the better. Everyone I love seems to leave me anyway. They either die or push themselves away. I have to be prepared for her departure. Even so, why does it still hurt?”

I couldn’t even read the last entry because I was crying. It was an apology letter – To me. I didn’t read it because I just couldn’t. Looking at the page only made me cry harder.

I placed the book on my table and packed my bag for school the next day. I then searched for dinner, but, alas, there was nothing. I went to sleep on an empty stomach.

Warm orange, again.

Oh how dull reality is, feels the same every day.

I got ready even faster. I needed time to think in the cold.

Turn off the alarm, stretch, get out of bed, brush teeth, get ready for school, eat breakfast. If an outsider saw this, they would’ve thought I was stuck in a time loop.

I walked out, already wearing my school clothes (really, they’re Nina’s clothes), Nina’s lucky jacket and my backpack. I blinked twice. Groceries were on the table – Fresh. Not leftovers. Mom was sitting there, a wide smile on her face as she read something in her hands. She looked happy. She then noticed me.

“Scarletta! Have breakfast, I made your favourite!”

“Mom, I really don’t have time to eat pancakes–”

“It’s five in the morning. Your bus comes at seven.”

“Well I was planning on–”

“No excuses, mija!”

I sat down across from her. She brought out a plate of stacked pancakes. I took a good look around the place.

“Mom, where did you get the money to buy these many groceries?”

“...Didn’t I tell you?”

“...No?”

“I’m dating someone, and he’s so kind that he bought us groceries! He has a son around your age and we were planning on–”

“Mom?”

“–introducing you to him so that you guys could become friends. The guy I’m dating’s name is–”

“Mom.”

“Elijah and his son’s name is Aiden. I have a really good feeling that you two will get along well-”

“Mom!”

“–because you both have so many things similar. You guys even look similar! How crazy is that–”

“MOM! STOP TALKING, PLEASE!”

Mom immediately stopped. “What is it baby?”

“It’s only been a day since Dad left and you already found another man? And what about Nina? Can that man handle a comatose girl? And if she wakes up, will he accept her?”

I was met with silence.

“Mija…”

“What?”

“We’re pulling the plug on her in two weeks.”

“WHAT?!”

“Didn’t you know?”

“No! You have to tell me these things before you even decide to do it!”

“Scarletta… You have to let go of her.”

Too late. Tears flowed out of my eyes. I ran out of the house and ran to the hospital. I burst in without even greeting the staff and I ran towards Nina’s room. I shook her – not violently, but enough. Duke blue (sadness) and the smell of clematis montana (silent fear) filled me.

“Nina! Nina!” I yelled through my tears, electric purple overtaking any celeste blue in my voice.

No response.

“NINA! THEY’RE GOING TO PULL THE PLUG ON YOU IN TWO WEEKS, WAKE UP! PLEASE!”

No response. Not even a single twitch.

“Please…”

I fell onto the floor. I knelt by her bedside, crying for her to wake up.

I stayed there for the whole school day. I didn’t have the strength to leave her. I was afraid that the hospital would pull the plug on her at any time. After a lot of consolation, the hospital staff told that they wouldn’t be pulling the plug on her – she had fourteen days to wake back up.

I went back home. Mom’s new boyfriend was there. I didn’t bother at all. I just went to my room and slammed the door shut. I didn’t care about their whispered talk, or about the alarming red in my mom’s voice.

I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling, a blank feeling overtaking my senses.

So this is how Nina felt, huh? No wonder she jumped off the terrace. If I were her, I’d do the same.

After what felt like hours, Mom beckoned me to follow.

There I met her boyfriend properly.

He knelt down to my height. “Heya Scarletta. My name’s Elijah. If you don’t accept me as your father, then it’s fine. Blood is thicker than water, isn’t it?”

“The blood of the covenant runs thicker than the water of the womb,” I muttered.

“Oh? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know how to explain it. But no, I will never accept you as my father, Elijah. You and your son are just replacements for ‘broken dolls’ that my Mother has gotten rid of.”

I stared my mother dead in the eyes. Whatever warmth I felt when I looked at her was gone.

“After all, we’re all just another doll,” I said and walked away – back into my empty shell of a room.

Days passed – unable to touch the book, unable to forgive my mother, unable to wake Nina up. Honestly, I’d given up.

Something happened a few days after the shock of the boyfriend and all that. Nina’s bullies were back at it again, and who did they decide to target after their initial victim broke? Me, of course!

They came up to me while I was walking back from a class so that I could have my lunch. They pinned me against the wall, those three girls.

“Oh look, the garbage dump’s sister is here!” a girl – I suppose Natalie – said.

“And she’s wearing that trashy jacket too? Ugh, how boring!” another girl, maybe Sage, said. “Oops!” the last girl said, pushing the books out of my hand. I guess she’s the ringleader of their little circus – Rin.

I picked up my stuff and tried pushing them away so I could go to my classroom.

“Hey, trash bag! Why hasn’t your garbage sister come to school since the past few weeks? It’s getting dry here,” Rin said.

“Yeah, we don’t have that garbage around to burn anymore. What’s up with that, huh?” Sage said.

“Well, hurry up and answer, we don’t have all day!” Natalie said.

I stared at them. They wanted to know the truth? I’d give them the truth – in fine detail. Paint the picture as though they’re the main reason she jumped.

“Fighting for her life,” I said, firmly.

“Oh? Did she join the army now?” Rin said, laughing her head off. The other two girls followed her pursuit.

“No. She committed suicide,” I said bluntly.

Natalie stopped laughing. Then Rin. Then Sage. 

“What?” Natalie asked.

“She jumped off of the terrace of our apartment because of bullies like you. You don’t even know how much she struggled. Her biological parents died in a house fire, and she was the only survivor. She was dealing with survivor’s guilt. Then our father manipulated her. On top of that, you three relentlessly bullied her. You should be ashamed of yourselves,” I said.

“We… we didn’t know…” Sage said.

“You guys don’t know anything! You just bully whoever isn’t your friend. Well, what’s over is over. She’s been in a coma for a while now, and Mom’s planning on pulling the plug. I hope you’re happy.” I turned and walked away.

The day went as normally as it could, except that every time I entered Nina’s hospital room, I cried and begged her to wake up. Some days, I even slept there. That day, I finally decided to go home.

When I went home, I saw my Mom smiling with her boyfriend and his son, making pancakes together. I didn’t join, of course – that would’ve felt like admitting defeat. But that made me wonder:

Was I selfish for clinging to the past? 

Things are temporary, sure, but what if I liked the way things were? Should I stop all of their progress for my desires – or should I drift like I do in school? 

Thoughts overwhelmed me. Every day, I wondered the same thing, over, and over again.

Two days before Nina was supposed to be “rested,” I decided to go to the hospital with her diary. If these were to be her last days, I should at least read her apology in front of her, just to remind her.

I took in the canary yellow. I smelled the foulness of the rotten food. I tasted the salinity of the sea water. I was going to miss my trips to the hospital. Of course, I didn’t like them – but now I don’t think I could enter a hospital without breaking down.

I sat on the stool for what I felt would be the last time.

I took a deep breath, and read.

“Dear Scarletta,

I know it may come as a shock to you on why I did this. I know that you’ll be asking yourself if it’s your fault. That’s why I left my diary to you. It’s not your fault, and don’t blame yourself. I don’t hate you for anything that you’ve done. You’re my sister, of course.

I heard that truth is stranger than fiction – and that seems to be true. I hid everything away from you, because I don’t want you to become like me. If you still turn out like me, feel free to blame me all you want, I know I am the one to blame for your pain.

I remember the day you were born. Mom was so happy, despite her tired eyes. Dad was bursting with joy. I remember how small you were, but how mighty was your strength. When you were able to speak full sentences, I remember Mom and Dad’s worried faces when you described colours, tastes, textures, smells and sounds in your unique ways. I remember the darkness in Mom’s and Dad’s eyes when they found out you had synesthesia. They made me believe that I was the one who gave it to you. I knew it wasn’t my fault, but still, I felt guilty.

You want to know the reason I never told Mom about Dad using me as a puppet? Because she was in on it too. Despite seeing everything, she was fine with it. I was only temporary, of course. I’m an incomplete doll to her. Then I guess you read about the bullying I received. Sure what they said was mean – but what could be going on in their homes for them to act that way? We should think about that. Just because I couldn’t bear the bullying doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. Bear it, or at least tell a teacher about it.

You have will power, I’ll give you that. But use that will power to get over me. You have a life to live, and getting lost in the past will only make the pain last. So, please move on – and let me be a happy memory for you.

Tell Mom and Dad that I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the girl they wanted. And I’m sorry that it had to end this way, Scarletta. See you in the next life,

~Nina”

I closed the book, tears streaming down my eyes. Closure was all I wanted – and closure was what I got. I hugged the book and closed my eyes.

At this moment, I knew that I could let her go. She deserved much better anyway.

Through the Duke blue, and every other emotion, lay the cream of hopefulness I never knew I had.

For the first time in weeks, I smiled.

A few minutes later, I had to go. I got up, wiped my eyes, then—

The heart monitor beeped faster and the foul smell grew stronger.

In minutes, a nurse rushed in.

I stood still. I could hear a trace of carmine. I walked towards Nina. Her lips were moving. I leaned in, while the nurse rushed to call my Mom, yelling about Nina being responsive.

“Scarletta…? I’m here… don’t cry…”

By Drishti Dattatreya Rao