Cover designed by Doris Barner
BLUE
I hear the glass tumbler drop to the floor, but I don’t move. With its dull thud, I know it hasn’t shattered, so I resist the urge to pick it up and I concentrate only on trying to retrieve more information. But I can’t, it’s gone. I rub the back of my hand from where it bluntly hit the glass in response to the vision I just saw. As I count to ten and breathe in the same manner my therapist taught me, I am once again in control of my panic. Opening my eyes, I look down at myself and my bed covers to ensure they are still the same.
Yes, my blue self was still here.
You may wonder what my blue self is, It's hard to explain, but you will see. Clair and I, (The therapist) have concluded on the idea that I have created my own heaven. I wouldn’t normally agree with her, but on this occasion, she is right- in parts. Unfortunately, she thinks it is because I am trying to reconnect with my deceased husband, Frank. I am not trying to connect with him; this IS him. He created my blue heaven to protect me.
I step out of my light blue bed sheets and brush down my crisp pyjamas to iron out any creases. I had specifically chosen these garments to match so when I slip into bed at night, I disappear into a blue abyss, and that’s where it all happens.
Think I’m nuts yet? It doesn’t matter, they all do.
I am allowed one other colour in my heaven...and this is white, but only a splash of white is allowed. I look over at the bed and frantically start to put the bed sheets straight as it has to be perfect. I get frustrated with the edge of the duvet cover that has dared to curl up and crinkle, so I rearrange the thick white quilt inside, and pat it back down and into place before strategically placing my furry white show cushions on top. After I am satisfied that my bed is heaven ready, I turn around and dash across my thick white sheepskin rug to the other side of my room where I pick up my journal and my special blue feathered fountain pen. I quickly rush back to pick up the tumbler before heading down my new blue carpeted staircase and flopping into my cosy, yes you guessed it, blue chair.
I mutter over and over to myself as I try to remember the dream, writing down every detail, until it’s nothing but a mass of blue scribble on a white page. I rip out the page, and I start again. This time focusing on writing neatly to get a clear description of my vision.
The orange dropped to the floor in front of black shoes. It looked like women’s shoes. I could hear screams and shouts but I could also hear music, like soft jazz, but it’s not through a sound system, it’s a different sound as it was coming from the side of me. The orange was rolling in that direction, so I turn to look, but I wake up and the vision is gone.
I quickly flip over to the previous days entry
The black clock on the cream wall says 12 pm, a flash of a badge came into my mind. Blue and white with the name Kelly written across it. I see butchers, and the butcher and his female assistant look concerned. I hear her say to call security. Then I wake.
I know the store and I know the butcher, but I don’t know what this means, other than someone is going to get hurt tomorrow. I know it’s tomorrow because my dreams come every three weeks, for three nights at 3 am. Then it happens. Clair seems to think I am making this up because Frank died at 3.33 am.
I’m not, you will see.
I sit in my blue chair, watching the next few hours drift by, until it is time for my next visit with Clair. You may be wondering why I keep visiting her if she never gets things right. But I have no choice. She is part of this. On the day I found her, I had a sign. I was looking on the internet for ways in which to kill myself. My screen froze, and her website flashed up- her BLUE website. The contact number was on the screen just staring at me. Then I looked at her name. Clair Bloomsbury. Its blue sound filled her second name. She was part of this.
Frank had sent her to me.
To be contined…..
