Alice

Alice pulled her shawl closer around her thin shoulders. She felt the stripes on her back flare in a dull moan as the coarse wool brushed against them. Black and blue. Black and blue. Black and blue and purple. Colors are a part of reality, a part of existence. They brought the hills and seaside to life in the summer. The lack of their incandescence was starkly apparent in the winter. Alice had always loved green. Green and yellow. They made her think of rebirth; the kind of rebirth that comes after a storm or a dull season. Black and blue. Black and blue. Black and blue and purple.

There was screaming. Or was it the gulls? It must be the gulls. Only Alice screamed. The rock face on the cliff side shifted as a gust of wind loosened debris. Rocks and branches and dirt fell into the water below. The foam swirled at the intrusion, and lapped softly at the pebbled beach in supplication. The call of the water. Greens and blues. Light blues and dark blues. Whites and greys. Alice heard the screaming again.

As she turned to look behind her, her foot scratched the side of the boulder upon which she sat. She looked down to see crimson mixing with the black and blue and purple. It looked violent. She touched the scratch with her fingertips and brought them to her lips. Blood was always warm. It was the only warmth she ever felt anymore.

Alice looked once again at the sea stretched out luxuriously before her. It was peaceful, serene, and hopeful. She stood up and walked to the edge, pushing a few stones over the cliff with her toes. She watched as her blood dripped down and fell out of sight somewhere below. Black and blue and purple. “Beautiful,” she thought. And she let her small frame gently fall downward to the sea foam below. Her shawl lay in the green grass, intermingled with the yellow dandelions.