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Thank god for his mothers anxiety.
It was an asshole thing to do, to take her anxiety medicine. He knew the shit was expensive, and they had to spend their emergency money on rebuilding the house, so while they weren’t poor, they weren’t as rich as before. So his mom wouldn’t be pleased when she saw the empty pill bottle next to his body. Or all of the painkillers, and Nyquil. Mike had no idea how this worked, so he just grabbed everything. It would be embarrassing, if it didn’t work and he had to puke it out.
But now, he was laying on his bed, staring at his ceiling. He felt an emptiness running through him, and he couldn’t breathe very well. His body felt hot and cold at the same time, and he didn’t know what time it was. He felt very confused, for no reason.
It was night, at least. He assumed so, anyway, because it was night when he took the pills. He didn’t have any windows in his room to see the sky.
He remembered the sky. Sadly, he mourned how he’d never see daylight again. Maybe he should’ve waited just a bit longer for morning to come, but he had never been regarded for his patience.
The sky. The light blue, brightened by the sun. His greatest memory of the sun was all the way back in kindergarten.
Every recess, he’d swing on the swing set in the playground. He swung, happily, letting the breeze brush past his curly hair, making him squint. Each time he’d swing forward, he’d stare at the sky and laugh in overwhelming joy. There wasn’t anything to laugh about, but he was so happy that it just came out of him.
Beside him, his best friend, Will, would swing happily too. Sometimes he’d kick his feet in excitement. Sometimes, Mike could only stare at him, instead of the sun, because he was just as bright.
Childhood was interesting to him. The way everything was brighter, meaningless yet so meaningful. Scary, yet so exciting and new. He’d caught a second glimpse of it, with Holly. She was so bright and imaginative, even if there were some assholes in her class.
But then, she was taken. She came back, and she didn’t completely lose her spark, but she was dimmed. Dark lines formed beneath her eyes far too early for a girl her age. She stood too still, like she was hiding. She flinched at the sound of her favorite song, or the ticking of the clock. When they managed to save the ruins of their house, she couldn’t enter her room, or the basement without breaking down in tears.
Every time Mike heard creaking in the hallway at night, and her panicked breathing, he wanted to cry. Cry for her, for how she lost her childhood in the same way he did, but worse. Cry over how terrifying everything was. Cry over how he thought for a split second that it wasn’t his sister, but a monster creeping down the hall. When he stared at the ceiling, accepting death for that split second, he felt almost relieved. Then he remembered, it was just his little sister, and he felt tears prick the corners of his eyes.
Everything had dulled. His family, his friends, his happiness. When the sky dulled too, he knew it was time to leave.
His walls were a dark blue. They’d been that color for years. Mike couldn’t remember when they changed to this blue, or if they changed at all. Maybe his walls were always blue, always sad.
Blue was a sad color, like the color of tears, and sometimes mold. Oddly, he associated himself with it. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because he was sad, or maybe it was his favorite color. He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. He was dying.
Blue wasn’t always sad, though. It was the sky, the sea, and the planets Neptune and Uranus. All of which were spectacular things that are so mysterious. Unknown.
Mike didn’t know which blue he was. Maybe he was just himself, and not a color. Maybe he’d always just been himself.
He wasn’t Frogface, or the heart, or Mike the Brave. He wasn’t even Mike. He was just… himself. He was a person, living an insignificant life, in an insignificant world, with so many insignificant things to love. So many insignificant things to hate.
There was nothing wrong with his name, but what made him Mike? Was it his personality? His hobbies? It was just a shorter version of the name given to him when he was born. No name or title or label could encapsulate the entirety of existing. And if any name could, it certainly wouldn’t be Mike.
He was so much. So large, yet so small. So numb, yet he felt like he was feeling everything. He was every color, every name, every cloud in the sky, and every fish in the ocean. He was every planet in the solar system, in the universe, even. He was everything, and he was nobody at the same time.
He didn’t notice when the blue of his walls had disappeared, when the ceiling he’d stared at so many times before had vanished into an empty black. But it wasn’t black. It was everything.
The border between life and death was the most beautiful thing Mike had ever seen. It was everything he’d lived through, and everything anyone anywhere will live through. It was like seeing the answer to every question he had before. Why didn’t he die sooner?
His best friend, whose name he couldn’t remember anymore, swinging on the swing set, kicking his feet. His favorite game, with fantasy lands, and scary creatures. His older sister, who called him gross and gave him the best hugs. His younger sister, who he’d held in his arms and read long stories too. His mom, who made the best food and was always so brave. His other best friends, who came later, who made life worth living for the small time that it mattered. The strange girl he’d found in the rain, who had bright eyes and unreal powers. The monsters that came and ruined his life. The aftermath, the numbness. And now, where he stood, or sat, or laid. He couldn’t remember.
Seven.
He remembered that. Seven minutes was how long life flashed before your eyes before you died. Seven, the number that his best friend rolled before vanishing. Seven, the amount of days in a week. Seven, a number that reminded him of blue. Blue, the color of the sky. Blue, the color of childhood. Blue, the color of Mike. Blue, the color of himself.
Blue was his favorite color.
When he died, he hoped that the aftermath was blue. Like the sky. Like him.