By Neiha S Khan Lasharie, 11 June 2013
“It’s kind of beautiful, you know.”
Jarred turned his head to look at his wife, surprised. They had been laid down on the grass (now turned blue) looking up at the slow shower of cobalt that rained down from the sky (also blue, but that was nothing new). Neither of them had said a word to one another: they were in awe at this phenomenon. A once in a lifetime – “no, ten lifetimes!” – event, said the monotonous newscasters that evening, where an ulcer in the sky would rupture and tint the whole region blue until a rain washed it off again. Things like this happened often, but blue was a color no one had seen in living memory. Most ruptures rained green, gold, even a brown that Leah disgustedly proclaimed was the most hideous thing to happen to her garden since it was infested with grubs.
But this blue silenced them both. And it silenced the city too, as if a celestial body had decided to cloak everything in a transparent sheet of aquamarine, city lights shining through tints, distorted, making it look like small golden fairies were dancing every where. And detached from the city as they were, having trekked towards a nearby empty field, looking at the sky in rapture, it did look like something ethereal was taking place in the distant skyline.
He reached out to wipe some of the blue flecks off her cheek as she continued, “Seeing everything all pretty and blue makes it all look so…different.”
“Even me?” he said with a grin, chuckling at the specks he managed to smear over her face instead. She shook her head, ignorant to the blue mess on her face. “Not you. But then, you’re my husband. You’re always pretty.”
He laughed at that, and she grinned too, before shaking her head and continuing, “Look at the city, though-”
She sat up, pointing at it, “It looks like it’s risen up from the sea…like some underwater citadel, with little nymphs playing about. I never thought our city could look so…”
“Nice?” he offered, smirking softly. He purposely lent a word that would devalue her statement just to see her pout. One of the perks of having a writer for a wife included how easy it was to annoy her.
“No! Not nice,” Leah replied, scoffing at the modest word, “I guess what I mean is I never thought it could look that grand. That mystical. You know?”
Jarred propped himself up on his elbows, looking out at the city thoughtfully. It did look mystical, he thought, with all the concrete covered and the streets and roads a heterogeneous blue. It was hard to tell where exactly the buildings began – they just seamlessly blended with everything.
He nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.”
Leah leaned into her husband, resting her head on his chest as he wrapped his arm tight around her. The blue would soon turn oppressively melancholy, she knew, but for now – for a moment that was a “once in ten lifetimes” event – she just savored this ethereal sight, where all life was suspended and where she and her husband seemed the only people witnessing the spectacular light show before them. Life would continue on, eventually, once the forecasted rain smote all the blue into the city’s drainage system and once she and Jarred took much needed showers: but for now, they basked in the twilight and watched the city dance.