The Treacherous Blue

Blue. There was nothing but the frigid, cold blue. A bright, profound shade that seemed to send off this mocking sensation. Looking straight into it, it cheats the eyes into believing – into being hopeful. Yet, that was all a lie. It left you no chance. Nowhere to turn. Nowhere to run. The azure sea enveloped the man. He thrashed around in vain as he was entrapped by the blue. He felt his hands tied behind his back. The chains were pulling him downwards.

It’s only been a few seconds since it began, but he was losing. At first, came a soft aching in the chest. A salubrious sensation that it’s time to breathe. The feeling gave the men a boost of strength. It invigorated him with an energetic verve that gave him the will to fight. He wrestled about, tossing back and forth without progress. He lashed upwards but his face didn’t even break the surface. He felt the chains tighten enough to pull him downwards by the ankles.

Falling down, the man recalled his last spectacle. He heard the booming crowds echo at him with displeasure. He remembered his last chance that was long gone. The triumphant life which he created for himself was slipping away.

By now the bitter, cold sensation was gone. It soon turned into an insipid dream where he felt absolutely nothing. Accustomed to the surroundings, he closed his eyes. The blue turned into an ethereal, murky sapphire which lacked the hope that the soft blue gave.

The man recalled his first spectacle. A triumphant endeavor it was not, but it proved to be something cherished. It was a challenge like no other – a call to aspire. It was nothing but a trial that would craft the best of the best. However ecstatic it was, every challenge leaves a mark. The man lived through too many to count.

The aching redoubled. It changed from a simple inconvenience to a tremendous pressure that gathered around his lungs. He felt every little bit of verve evaporate, as he fought against relinquishing his last breath.

That’s when he recalled his ninth spectacle. He heard the mellifluous tunes, the cheering of strangers, and the vexed looks of some that wanted him to fail. He recalled his promise. He knew he chose this road. The only thing he lacked before and after that time was the nonchalant peace that helped him cope with his surroundings. What he needed was a veneer that would protect himself from himself. Real or fake, it didn’t matter but it had to give him the courage to fight.

He let out a shriek as the last few breath escaped him. He closed his eyes before he fought back, freeing his hands. Blindly, he unshackled his chain. Lifelessly, he was lifted up to the surface where he blighted the lit that separated his from freedom.

He inhaled until his lungs couldn’t hold more air.

He felt alive.

He heard the crowd salute him with ovations. Soaked in water, he climbed down onto the wooden stage. An associate padded him on the back. He returned backstage where he met his family’s proud smiles.



Thanks for reading,
Patrick Rain

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