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he's not there. i know it. because he has the jacket on.
the jacket's bright yellow, pristine, shining boldly like a stoplight. there's no taint of foulness on it. the last time i had seen that jacket, it was stained crimson with blood.
i grab his wrist and dig my fingernails in; hard. they leave little red crescents in his olive skin. he screeches loudly in pain, withdrawing his arm. "ow, get the fuck off of me!"
"you're not real, you're not real," i sob over and over again.
"shut up, i'm real!"
"you're not real," i say, and suddenly there's a cold blade in my hands. he screams as i stab him over and over again.
"you're not real,"
in a feeble attempt, he throws the jacket in my face. as he dies, i get a faceful of yellow.
"you're dreaming," she tells me, and i open my eyes.
her silky black hair is immaculately styled as always. i stare at the galaxies in her sneakers.
"your t-shirt," i realized, panicking, "its yellow."
"so?" she asked. she presses her earbuds in my palms. i listen to the music.
the song is filthy. it makes me think of yellow i hate it i hate it ihateitihateit. the throw on the couch is yellow. the pillows are yellow. everything is so yellow.
"IT'S DIRTY IT'S FILTHY IT'S DISGUSTING I HATE IT!" i scream, and rip everything off.
"STOP!" she yells, but i don't care. i punch her and sink my fist deep into her stomach. and then i run. i run and i run.
everything's blue now. blue is nice.
my head hurts from all the voices telling me to kill myself.
telling me to hurt myself.
i know i'm crazy, i know i'm schizophrenic, i'm bipolar, i'm pyschotic, i'm sucidal, whatever. i know i'm hallucinating.
i focus on the blue. sky, robin's egg, indigo, cerulean…
the voices are too loud. babbling and screaming and wailing and telling me what THE FUCK TO DO---
"STOP IT! just fucking stop it! im tired! please, help me, help me, save my soul," i sob, collapsing.
i jolt as the blue turns to bright, blinding yellow, the colour of highlighters and mangoes and the sun.
"no," i whimper, digging my fingernails into my throat at the repulsive sight of the stoplight colour. constellations of pain erupt from the deep puncture wounds; and my blood flows thick and sticky. i fall. i'm so dizzy. please, someone help me.
"you wondered why they called the song heavydirtysoul?" i whisper, lying on the floor, my blood flowing into a scarlet river.
the last thing i see is not black.
it's yellow.