Orange

Slowly, I approach the small window of the hospital room. The orange glow basking from the panes are the only source of light it the otherwise, white, dull room. In my life. I lift my eyes and stare out of it, drinking in the ordinary scene on the other side of the glass. From where I stand, I can see the ongoing traffic, driving by as if everything is normal. There are houses with every day activity going on inside them, people who are blissfully unaware of all the horrors of the world and how everything could be snatched from under your feet, and how the slightest pressure rubbed the wrong way can turn your whole world to dust.

In the distance, I hear a child laugh. It's a high pitched, happy giggle that causes a hint of a smile to tug at the corners of my mouth. The sound makes the world beyond the glass glimmer with the slightest bit of hope. Somewhere behind the cold darkness, there is light and hope. Glowing happiness in a world of misery and pain. But it's not accessible to all. I have long since accepted that I will never find it, but to some, it's there, right within their reach.

As the darkness settles back in, and the small flicker of short lived joy fades, my thoughts are directed to how long it will be until those who are happy then lost the light, and with it all their hopes and dreams. I wonder how long it will be until everything they have ever known is shattered until all they have to hold are shards. When they get to that point, the way I see it, they have two choices. They can take a fragment of the glass that was once their dreams and draw it across their stained skin; they can watch the blood flow and observe how it is the only splash of colour that remains in their black world. Or they can take all the pieces and model them together, merging all the colours until they have created a stained glass window; which even in the dark, could be lit up from within, if only the creator has the strength and beauty to do so.

I lift a hand to touch the glass, press my fingers against the cold, smooth surface and push my palm flat against the window. I curl her hand into a fist without removing it and notice how, even inside the lifeless hospital room that has been drained of hope and colour, it remains whole and unbroken. A sliver of orange sunlight is still able to creep though the gaps, lighting not just the sky, but with it the whole room and my life inside it. It slips behind my skin, touches the core of my heart, infecting every particle in my body with an iluminating glow; a glow that shines from the inside out, and allows a smile, a real, genuine smile to flitter across my lips. A smile that I thought was dead.

Orange was always my favourite colour.