𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 [𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 - 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭]

0 | They named him Blue

— FAMILY IS STRANGE. He had never felt at peace with his family. Never felt that he was a part of that loving circle of joyful beings. And that wasn't because he was neglected or ignored or abused. His family had always been good to him, for the most part, but they were Amity folk. And there are many downfalls to being happy in the way they were. Happy to the point of delusion, to the point of sickness. And yet, with them he felt he was the sick one.

He was sat in the garden with that horrible straw-like grass scratching at his skin as if it had peeped through the cracks in the earth just to spite him, the sounds of his excessively large family filtering through the evening air. It was the end of the day now, and the songs chiming from every cutely cluttered household had changed from work songs to pre-meal tunes. It was hot here even with the dying sun, and the horizon rippled dizzyingly in waves. Those invisible bugs humming around his head and sticking to the soil and perspiration on his skin were unwelcome company, but there was nothing he could do about them. He wasn't happy, so it's not like they could worsen his mood. He was abnormal like that.

Some clattering came from behind him, just enough to grab his attention as he twisted to briefly check on his family's activities. His aunt had knocked some pots from the wrack hanging over chipped wooden counters. (Well, they were more like an uneven collection of tables with crates beneath, containing onions and potatoes and other slow-perishing food.) She was giggling, holding a heavy copper kettle in her hands as her young son, six-year-old Miles, sat on the floor, colander on head, lip wobbling but a watery smile still adorning his face. Her husband was on the porch with the elderly Ma, watching the scene and letting out their own hearty laughs. He frowned, thankful that after they got over their own amusement, his cousin Leah had the sense to pick up the little boy and offer him some comfort.

That was his problem with his family. They didn't acknowledge negative feelings, in fact they didn't allow it. Perhaps that was why they were all so happy, they were ignorant to the things that would make them sad, and conditioned to think that way. But he wasn't like them, and it seemed to be blatantly obvious to everyone around him.

They named him Blue. Of course, that wasn't his official name, his birth certificate said something entirely different. But to them, he was Blue. To everyone, he was Blue. He wasn't happy like them.

The name appeared when he was about seven. Upon meeting his aunt Estrella - Stel for short - he had burst into tears, convinced that he was seeing his mother again, alive and well. That was where it became obvious he was defective. His parents had always allowed him to feel, to cry when he was sad and shout when he was angry. To talk about his childish nightmares and argue about how unfair life can be, like when his favourite chicken had been poached by a neighbour's dog. They were good parents in that respect, in that they supported him, and they weren't mad like everyone else.

Aunt Stel arrived at the charred door of his early childhood home, holding a bundle of clothing. She stood there like an avenging angel, silhouetted by the sunset light, honey blonde hair glowing like a halo and figure tastefully swallowed by terracotta oranges and creams. That was one of the few times he had seen her sad. She looked at him in pity, knelt down before him and held him as he sobbed. But after that, after he had been taken to his new home on the other side of their faction, after the soot had been cleaned from his hair and his clothes scrubbed until they became faded, he wasn't allowed to be sad anymore. He had to be happy, that's what his parents would've wanted, right? So he didn't mourn, and every time they'd see him sad they'd say, "Why so blue little one?" Until eventually it became, "Sad again, little Blue?"