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“I never liked the colour purple.”
That was the only thing written in 6-year-old Clay’s journal, a reminder of his mother’s favourite colour, purple. The crusting violet book was completely empty, with the exception of that almost illegible scribble of that single sentence across the middle of the page, the black stain stark against the yellowing paper. The now 19-year-old Clay snapped the book shut as he sat, alone, on his couch, focusing back on his surroundings. The musty air was softly lit up by the sunlight slowly seeping through the window, the deafening silence matching Clay’s emotionless state, somehow all-encompassing but yet not even there.
Using all his strength, he dipped his fingers into the warm red liquid that dripped from his head, surrounding him. His eyes were fluttering shut as his worn body was slowing down. His red-soaked fingers wrote his only sentence into the vibrant violet journal, its intense colour acting as a lighthouse to a boat. The colour purple, again, was forcibly etched into his mind as the world slowly faded away, his consciousness falling, spiralling, into a deep black, his last memory was a mauve picture frame of a woman, perched upon his bedside table, before the weight of his head fell with a thud onto his no-longer-empty journal.
The buzz of a text message echoed in the silence, Clay barely flinching as he tilted his head slightly, glancing at his phone which rested on his coffee table. It wasn’t hard to guess who was texting and what the context of the text was. There was only one person that even talked to Clay, let alone texted him and that was his best friend of three years, Sophia.
Sophia was the first person to talk to Clay when he transferred schools in the middle of the year. She didn’t mind the fact that he came from a problematic school, nor did she mind the fact he hardly ever smiled. She just approached him with a skip in her step, lavender jacket hanging off her petite frame as she made it a point to try and befriend him. And Clay wasn’t one to stop her from interacting with him. What surprised Clay, however, was how long she was willing to stay like a little pet by his side, no matter how little he showed emotions towards her, she still clung on like an affectionate leech. Affection that Clay would have to say definitely did not seem reciprocated by him.
“Where the heck are you?” “I’m already outside the school compound waiting for you, dummy.” “You better not make me wait.” Hand twitching at the constant buzzing, he stuffed his phone into his pocket and turned on airplane mode to prevent himself from getting any more texts. Clay took a short breath to stabilize himself, pulling his basil green hoodie tighter around himself as he made his way towards his school.
As he got closer, the herds of students got thicker, blocking his path as he tried not to bump into anyone, keeping his head low. “Clay! Over here!” Sophia’s voice rang out, a beacon in the darkness. Stumbling past more peers, Clay finally reached the spot that Sophia had been hanging about, waiting for him, her magenta T-shirt stark against the concrete school walls. “What took you so long? I want to show you something, come on!” Sophia huffed, eyebrows furrowing with a joking smile, before dragging an expressionless Clay by the sleeve of his sweater towards the bulletin board located at the centre of the school.
“Look at this! They finally released the prom date and theme, Nature! And it’s at the end of this week too!” Her finger waggled excitedly, stabbing at the pristine flyer pinned on the board. “We have to go together, okay? And we’re going to go shopping for my dress today, and I won’t take no for an answer.” Sophia’s eyes were shining like stars as she painfully peeled her eyes away from the flyer, staring at Clay for any sort of response, trying to egg him on with a dazzling smile. “Sure.” Clay croaked out, blank-faced, voice slightly sore from never usually talking, hardly having any practice speaking up. “Oh, I can’t wait till tonight! This is going to be so cool, like you probably can't begin to fathom - like I would die before I miss prom…” Her unending rambling was commonplace between the two, Clay being his silent self as he stared forward hazily, letting his body go on autopilot as his feet guided him towards homeroom.
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“... And that’s all for today, class. Don’t forget about Friday! It’s going to be the biggest day of your life.” The teacher at the front of the class stated before making her leave, with a trickle of students following after her. Clay remained seated, unmoving. The cogs of his brain turned slowly to bring his consciousness back to life as he saw a hand waving frantically in front of his face. “Clay? Clay? Hello… Earth to Clay?” Sophia sing-songed, finally stopping when Clay gave a hint of a response, turning to face her. Grinning wide, she quickly began walking towards the exit whilst motioning for Clay to follow along, her excitement and passion for shopping lost on him, but no one could miss the obvious glee on her face. A jump in her step, a drag in his, side by side they made their way to wherever Sophia was leading them.
It didn’t take long to find what she was looking for. “She must have something in mind,” Clay thought to himself as he stared at Sophia running from shop to shop, looking around for less than a minute, before leaving for another one. And another one. And another. The shops began to blur together as Clay was dragged from place to place, Sophia determined to get the perfect dress for her. Finally, they entered a shop that matched the theme of the prom much more, with magnificent dresses covered in flowers of all types and ties made to look like golden vines. Sophia dropped Clay’s sleeve, diving deep into the store, leaving Clay still at the door. He stood there for a while, before finally deciding to find a place to sit and wait for her to come back out of the depths of cloth. Keeping his head down, Clay shuffled quietly to a seat, eyes closed gently as he leaned his head against the backing of the chair. Then he opened his eyes to see-
Purple. Painting. Framed. Whispers of wind blew through the open window. “Mommy? Why are you trapped here?”
Silence. “Why are you so quiet?”
Unresponsive. “Are you mad at me?”
Creaking of a door. “Mommy, I think Daddy is home.”
Thumping sound of footsteps, uneven. “D-daddy’s stumbling a lot, sounds very painful…”
Clink, clink, clink. The sound of glass tapping against the plum-tinted metal bannister up to their lofted living room. The stench of brandy wafted through the air, getting stronger as the glass tapping noises grew louder. He entered the room with the hanging, purple frame, bottle in hand. Knuckles gripping tight, eyes dilated, unfocused, on the painting. Hand shaking. Eyes redirected. Bottle raised. “D-daddy?”
“AHHHHHHHH! I found it!” A joyous shrill squeak came from the back of the store, causing Clay to tear his eyes away from the hanging painting to look towards the source of the noise. “Clay, come over! You have to see this.” Sophia’s voice rang through the store, muffled by the layers of clothing between them. Silently, Clay moved through the maze of clothes, gently pushing aside hangers to move closer to the back of the store, the dressing room. Her eyes sparkled as she saw Clay coming closer to her, his gaze unmoving from her dress. “So…? What do you think? Isn’t it beautiful?” Sophia whispered with a wide grin, trying not to break the enchanting atmosphere that suddenly befell on them. Clay stared. The dress.
It was the dress. She sat, unmoving, in her frame. Her gentle face had perched a soft, motherly smile, hair looking as silky smooth as he remembered it being. Her eyes, a golden brown that’s sparkles could not be captured within a painting. But the thing that really caught Clay’s eye was his mother’s dress. The dress was covered in thousands of small, embroidered lilac flowers, the number of flowers thick at the bottom, before slowly becoming less and less as it moved up her dress, to a plain, lavender top, sleeveless. The folds of the dress were delicate, cut and placed in the exact position, the layers of fabric made way for a dress that was very fluffy, creating a calming atmosphere just by looking at it. The whole dress was tied up neatly with a sangria sash above the waist, the silk a lovely contrast to the tulles that made up her skirt. Up her arms had ropes of plum-coloured vines, the darker purple complimenting his mother’s light skin. The whole painting was mesmerizing. Immobile. She was a statue in that painting, Clay noticed as his eyes flickered like his life, slowly, as the room grew dim with every thud that rung in his ears.
The eyes of his mother no longer soft, but cold, emotionless, staring down into his soul as his breathing turned heavy. Her hands placed on her lap, no sign of outstretching to help, just completely still. Her gentle expression read as one of malice, her unsmiling face belittling Clay who was crouching, cowering, beneath the painting as his head rocking closer and closer to the ground with every thud. Before he could no longer see his mother’s mocking eyes, just her purple dress, engraved into his mind.
“... Clay?” Sophia asked, head tilting to the side with a questioning stare. Clay stared at Sophia’s dress. His mother’s dress. Clay’s silence was not something unexpected, but wasn’t a satisfying answer nonetheless, causing Sophia to sigh softly before beginning to turn away. “... It’s…” Clay began, Sophia’s head snapped back to look at him, her eyes widening in shock. He tried to find the words to describe it, mouth opening and closing like a fish, his eyes squeezing shut in concentration, before finally letting out a sharp breath, face loosening and going back to his usual expression, only this time, to Sophia’s utmost surprise, he had a smile on his face as he opened his eyes to look at her. His first smile to Sophia since the day they’d met. Breathless, Sophia’s face broke into a grin, happy to see Clay smiling for the first time. “I see someone can’t wait till Friday,” Sophia joked, lighthearted, before she turned to purchase her prom dress.
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The days before prom were interesting, especially with Clay’s sudden change in his personality. He seemed to smile more, posture was much more relaxed and responded much more to Sophia when she asked him questions. Although she was confused as to what caused this sudden change in heart, she didn’t ask about it. Clay was more responsive and seemed much happier, so why should she pressure him? She didn’t want to risk Clay going back into his shell, so she kept quiet, but to her, it was worth it.
Thursday, after school, Clay called out to Sophia as she was rushing to get home, her bus already beginning to pull up to the bus stop. This wasn’t the first time this week that Clay asked her a question unprompted, and she was beginning to enjoy the new Clay. “What’s up, Clay?” “You want to come over to my place before prom this Friday? Then we can go to prom together.” Clay asked, his new smile plastered on his face. “Wait, for real? I go over to yours?” Sophia questioned, eyes wide. He nodded. This was just so unlike the past Clay, but not in a bad way. “I would love to; see you tomorrow!” Sophia shouted as she turned and sprinted to her bus, her smile could be heard through her words, her heart bursting with joy for her friendship with Clay has become stronger than ever, almost bringing a tear of happiness to her eye.
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“... Have you guys seen Sophia?”
“You mean the girl that hangs out with that weird quiet kid?”
“Yeah, she said she was coming to prom today, but I can’t find her anywhere.”
“Oh, I heard that she went over to that kid’s house before prom. She said she’d come later.”
“Don’t worry, she’d die before missing prom, hahaha!”
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It was turning dark. Night was falling as slowly people went to bed, the darkness engulfing the houses along the street. The only source of light was the eerie streetlights, not that anyone was using said light with how empty the streets were. No one could hear from outside, the basement door locked shut, tight. Pained whimpers echoing as they bounced off the concrete walls, thick. The air was cold and stale, the single lightbulb swaying overhead as someone above stomped on the ground above, its dim light flickering, yellow tint against the grey, stained walls. Hidden in the corners of the room were glass bottles, empty and clean, as if it was put there with a purpose. Clay, from upstairs, made his way down to his decrepit basement. The creaky, wooden floorboards squeaked as he made his way down the hallway to his basement, the metal door staring at him, creeping into the deepest corners of his soul, the reflection of his stone-cold face clear against the shiny steel. Reaching his hand out, Clay grabbed hold of the metal handle, and turned.
There were only two things of importance in the room. The first was the painting on the wall, staring down, unsympathetic, at the second thing of importance in the room. It was the same painting that haunted Clay’s memories, the painting of his dead mother. The mother that left him, left him to fend for himself, left him to die. The second thing was the girl tied up to the chair in the middle of the room. Her purple dress was now wrinkled and torn, her hair a wreck, falling over and covering her face. Her body bound tight with rough ropes, mouth gagged tightly, red marks appearing at her arms and face. Clay stared coldly into her teary eyes. She watched, chest heaving as Clay sauntered over to the corner, grabbing a bottle like a baseball bat. Pupils dilated as she vigorously shook her head, trying to inch herself away, chair scraping across the floor. She knew what was coming, getting sick to her stomach in fear, blood draining from her face.
They fought. She left. He broke. She died. He cried. Purple flowers, purple frames, purple dresses. Paintings, photos, still images. A Father’s grief turned monstrous. Bottles against head, body hit the floor, time and time again. Constant pain in every dimension. Eyes. Her eyes stared as blood leaked, as blood seeped into the floorboards. Her son’s blood. Still images, still bodies, empty minds. Left behind. Eyes meet eyes, one filled with grief and one filled with nothing. Empty painting that just stares, the real person gone, tortured is her son.
It only took the first swing for tears to fall. Clay’s unnerving silence was the only thing that encompassed her, her own sharp inhales and muffled shrieks ringing loudly in her ears. Clay smashed the first bottle violently at her head, glass shattering as blood began to pool at the base of the purple dress. She was crying, screaming, but Clay couldn’t hear a thing, his ears blocked by his worst thoughts and fears. Her blood mixed with her pained tears as they dripped down her face, head in wretched pain but starting to feel much, much lighter.
Second swing and the chair crashed to the floor as he slammed the broken glass bottle against her shoulder, blood weeping from the cuts as her body landed, hard, against the concrete ground, immense pain shot through her body like a bullet through her side as her voice cut out from screaming, another round of silence before the whimpering continued. Clay’s eyes began to change, his focus seemed to be coming back, as if waking from a coma. His expression twitched.
Third swing and it’s not just her crying, Clay’s crying too. As he continued to bash her head with bottle after bottle, no longer counting his swings, Clay had begun muttering something under his breath, at first a soft whisper but as the words trickled from his mouth, it began to grow louder, and louder. Soon, her screams weren’t the only thing filling the room. Countless shattered bottles laid on the ground, bits of glass stabbed deep into her arm and side, her body starting to slow down as Clay was high on his adrenaline rush, eyes screaming bloodlust.
“Why!? Why did you LEAVE me behind?! I was just a bloody CHILD, you insolent, disgrace of a mother!” Slam. A bottle falls, cracking against the skull of the girl.
“You left me behind to DIE with that man, you KNEW I wouldn’t be able to survive.” Smash. Another bottle falls, blood splattering against the grey walls, stained forever.
“You stared at me as I got beaten,” Smash. "Abused,” Shatter. “Tormented by your haunting eyes. Your judging eyes. Your perfect dress mocking my imperfect life.” Crack.
“You could have protected me. But then you left and got yourself killed.” Silence.
“I should have been the one to kill you.” The malice in Clay’s eyes glowed, his face no longer streaked with tears, back to his stone-cold stare, but his face broke into a large grin. “So now, I will.”
Sophia had disappeared, image hazy, replaced by the woman who has been the reason for Clay’s despair. His mother lying, tied up to the chair on the ground, life slowly draining from her sorrowful eyes. Purple blood oozed from her skull as her face was half-covered by her own pool of blood that had dripped from her skull, her body slowly becoming motionless.
“And guess what, Mom,” Clay whispered as he raised his final bottle, high above his head, eyes glued to his mother’s dying face.
“I never liked the colour purple.”