SPOILERS: S-9 <Nothing Major>
ARCHIVE: Email me and tell me about it, but otherwise you're free to take.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue. No money
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well this was an assignment I had to do for this creative writing class I'm taking... I needed to write about something involving rainbows. But believe me, after you finish reading this, you'll never look at a rainbow the same way again... I just randomly started after watching Kisangani, and I don't know I guess it's supposed to be set right before Abby falls asleep, and does know that Carter's on his way home to her. Oh yeah, thanks to Heather for posting my work, and thanks to anyone who has commented on any of my stories, you've helped a lot!!! Please, please, please review. It only takes a second or two and it really makes me happy!! Please!!!
SUMMARY: Abby contemplates the many colors of her life.
The world begins and ends in pitch blackness. When you were in your mother's womb, you could only sense what was going on outside. You couldn't see it. Your eyes were closed. And from that very first second you emerged from that sanctuary, you began to absorb every color imaginable. The bright light of day, the darkness of night. You began to associate feelings with colors, creating a special connection only you could decode. Every person creates it, yet they would never be able to explain it if they needed it. It was the hidden power of the brain. The small things, not the big things, that it managed to do. All the things it remembered. Some things you wished it would forget. She wished she could forget it all. Every color she met, a different emotion ripped through her body. The colors of the rainbow. Happy colors, for most. Sad and dark for her. And there was nothing she could do to change it. She cradled her body closer to her. The first color on the list.
Red: Red led to blood. Blood led to pain. Pain led to suffering. Suffering led to hurt. A deep permanent hurt like when she was little, her mother and the glistening silver knife. She watched her mother's blood stain her clothes, the walls, the sheets, the world. It poured in endless pools, until she collapsed on the floor. Abby came to the rescue, stopped the bleeding, called and ambulance. She would wake up in the Psych Ward, tied to the bed. She would be released 24 hours later, only to try a different attempt at her life. Sometimes she wished her mother would just do it right. But most of the time she was the one cleaning the stains. Stains that soaked through. Stains that would never disappear. Stains like deep red scars.
Orange: Orange wasn't a widely used color. Yet it was used on highways and roads to mean caution. Caution for what? An accident where a worker's family would lean over a dead body hit by a car and so mutilated it was barely recognizable? They would cry, mourn, then sue. She preferred an easier route. Her favorite brand of tequila, a few selected bottles of liquor, and some cigarettes even held a bit of the color. It was an easier route to take. You can just drink and smoke your worries away. You just slowly killed yourself. And that was the best way because no one cares about the day you die. They expect it. They know you did it to yourself, so they stop giving a damn. No tears will be shed. No mourners standing over your rotten and deceased body. No one would even muster a 'she'll be missed'. They knew it would be coming. The end. So did you.
Yellow: Yellow always referred to light. But what good was light when it only made the things more painful to bear. In the blackness of night you could get away with murder. In the light of day, you can't make a mistake. Everyone is watching you, criticizing, laughing. You try to be the best person you can, but it becomes impossible. Always a comment on what you are doing wrong. Everything out there for the world to see.
She hated the light. The light didn't exist for her. Light was strength, courage, hope. All the things she never had. And she never would. To everyone else the light was the sun, even though it disappeared for a few hours. There was comfort in knowing that it would always, indefinitely be there in the morning. Her light was more like a weak, small candle. So many things could blow it out permanently. Wind, rain, snow. All different yet all had the same purpose. And once that light has gone, that yellow flicker against a dark world, the world collapsed.
Green: Green would always remind her of one agony, one torment forever. She didn't know why hospitals choose green for scrubs. Maybe it was because doctors led people to greener pastures? Or was it because it was supposed to bring solace to the dying patient? But it probably would only scare them more. Frighten them to the point of no return. They would never see the green of a field, glistening with dew in the morning sun, nor a forest at sunset.
But in reality, green was a good choice. In the fall, the green leaves begin to fall, they turn brown, and fall down onto the earth and disintegrate. They perish. Like everyone will one day. So maybe the doctors were smart, lean the patients into the realization that they were going to be put under a green earth, and lie there, forever. No way out. No choice. Life was too short. Or too long. Sometimes you could not fix the things you did, and you always realized it with the doctor in green standing over you, telling you it wouldn't be long now. Your escort into a darker hell.
Blue: The next stage. As soon as the oxygen gets cut off from your lungs, your heart stops to beat. Then the blood stops flowing. The cells can't move. The supply of energy to your brain diminishes and your body stops working. You are just a body. A inanimate, lifeless body that will never see a blue sky, hear a laugh, or shed tears. Your lips turn blue. A blue only seen in hospitals, that would scare little children if they pulled it out of a crayon box. Then I spread to your face, neck, chest, arms, stomach, legs, toes. It completely absorbed you. And there was nothing that could be done to stop it, hide it, cover it up. Your eyes were open, dried out, the veins bulging out. Like you could still see the world, absorb it once more. No more clear blue skies, no more deep blue oceans, no more loving light blue eyes to stare into. Only earth-shattering silence.
Purple: The last color of the twisted rainbow. The color of royalty. Or royal suffering. Purple was a child's favorite color, but never an adult's. A child could pride itself on his or her deep purple bruises after learning to ride a bike, or climb a tree. But never a grown woman. All the bruises signified were a punch, a throw, a hit, a kick. Battle scars. A battle she would never win. She would always be rendered defenseless. Like a hopeless baby. She was a baby once more. Steering clear of her mother, her protector. She hid them all. Long sleeve shirts and pants in the middle of summer. All over her back. Her chest, her arms, head, face. The occasional kick in the stomach or legs. She was used to it. She would watch the skin change colors. Purple originally, then blue, brown, and back to her natural olive color. A cycle of repeated anguish. A cycle she couldn't break. She couldn't leave her mother. She was sick. Only she suffered. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. The many colors of her life.
Yet it hadn't always been that way. She had once seen the red of a lover's rose, the orange of a fading sunset, secure in his arms. Seen the yellow of a sun and absorbed every ray of light she could.. She had let him lead her into the greenest pasture, and he never ceased to disappoint her. She had seen the deepest, darkest, blue ocean, and it hadn't frightened her. She had once wandered in a field of lilacs, lightly tinted with a purple hue, and she managed to absorb every detail, from the smell of him, to the secrets and fears he kept locked in his deep brown eyes.
And she had lost it all. Lost every color. She was color blind once more. Emotionless. Helpless. And in pain. A never ending amount of pain. No one but him could make it go away. She wanted to see her rainbow again. She wanted him in her arms again.
But she couldn't. She hugged the pillow closer to herself, smelling the last few traces of him in it. She slept on his side of the bed. Nothing would ever change. But she would dream. And he would be in her dreams, guiding her to the brightest rainbow of them all.