Cyan shadows and melting balloons


The shadow on the wall opposite was crisp and blue-green. Cyan – I think that’s what they call the colour. I know it’s of the creeper outside on the balcony. In the night light. Though I had never seen it so crisp and blue-green. The shadow I mean, not the creeper. The creeper had always been hooker’s green.

I like taking photographs of shadows. This one, moreover, was blue-green. Cyan, rather. I went to get my camera.

The other shadows were all brown and black, and my camera was hidden among them. Someone had taken it and replaced it in the wrong place. Which, of course, is different from misplacing it.

It took me a while to find my camera.

By the time I came back with it, my shadow had become grey and smudged. I wanted to cry. I went to the balcony looking for it, but the creeper it belonged to was no longer there. Instead there were balloons floating. Red and black balloons against a dirty grey sky. Or were they parachutes? I’m not sure now.

There were large patches of red and black on the water below my balcony too, where the balloons – or parachutes – had fallen and melted. Thick, slushy blotches that brought to mind the images of Alaskan oil spill I had seen long ago. In which aquatic birds were caught, dying because they were unable to fly.

There were no birds caught in the red and black blotches on the water below my balcony though. There were no birds anywhere. Not one: not even in the sky. In fact, it was so birdless, so silent, that it disturbed.

I did not wake up at that point. It was much later that I did, maybe after a few more dreams that I can’t recall now.

Tell me, how does one live with a head full of cyan shadows and balloons that melt on water? 



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