There once was a girl called Blue. She lived in beautiful glass dome. There was pretty little house right in the middle of the dome with a tiny garden on the outside. Blue lived all by herself in the dome. She danced in the garden, sang in the house and made merry by herself with no joy to spare.
When there was sun, Blue looked up and saw the rays hit the surface of the dome and reflect. They made gorgeous speckles of white and yellow. They stung Blue’s eyes in a nice way. Blue would reach out and touch the roof of the dome and feel like she caught some sun.
When there were thick black clouds, her house looked grey. The garden looked as though it was heaving from the weight of the clouds. Blue always wore red when she saw the first cloud in the sky. Blue thought red and grey go well together.
Soon there would be droplets falling from the sky. Some small making a tear drop on the dome, some large enough to go splat!
Blue would look up at the rain. The drops felt like they were running towards her. She would jump up to catch it and she would. Then she would slowly open her fist and find it dry. She would look all puzzled and see the drops trickling off the dome all around her. She would try again. This time aiming for a smaller drop – maybe just maybe she could catch it.
Blue never knew what it was like to feel that splat on the square of your palm or the sweet wetness of a droplet on your index finger. Blue had never smelt the earth fresh after the first rain. But then I guess Blue was okay since she did not know what all that was.
One day the skies were dark, there was a huge gale and a tree fell over Blue’s dome. It left a huge crack on the dome right above the pretty little house. Now whenever Blue saw the sky, she saw it split into two.
She slowly began smelling the sun, feeling the warmth on her skin. It was new. It was not the same. The sun was trickling in through the crack. Her house felt different. Her windows looked different. It was new. It was not the same. It looked new.
When the winds blew, she saw the blades of grass in her garden perking up expectantly. She felt the rustling of her hair on her neck. It was new. It was not the same. It smelt new.
One day the winds blew really hard, so hard that the dome got knocked over. The crack burst open. Little pieces of the dome just flew apart. The house fell over and Blue stumbled out.
She felt the earth on her arms, the sun on her face, the salt on her lips and the grime beneath the nails. She felt uncomfortable. It was new. It was not the same. It felt new.
She moved her arms and heard the air move beneath it. She raised her hand to reach for the sun and just touched a few green leaves. It was new. It was not the same. It sounded new.
It was the sound and smell of ‘choice’, of freedom to be able to feel.
She did not like it. She wanted ‘same’ back. She bent down, picked up a shard of glass. She saw some of her house in it. She looked around and in each small piece of glass was a smaller image of her house.
She was out. No boundaries to feel what you want to feel.
She did not like it. She picked up a piece of the glass dome, saw into it and saw her house. She disappeared into that piece.
There once was a girl called Blue. She lived in beautiful glass piece. It was not new. It was the same. It looked, smelt, sounded and felt the same.
And the smell of choice remained outside. No longer needed in the piece of glass.