The blue room

The blue room

The walls are a pale blue, like the sky that I see through my window. Such a happy colour, but such a cold colour. I’m usually cold; some nights my blanket isn’t enough to keep me warm. I love my blanket, it is bright yellow. Yellow like the sun that sometimes peeps at me through my window. So bright, it hurts my eyes. It makes me blink if I stare too long at it, and sometimes it makes me cry. Not tears of sad, not tears of hungry, just tears of staring at the sun too long.

I wear white. Not shiny and sparkling like the snow that once landed on my window sill one very cold day, but a little worn, a little yellowy. White like… teeth. The other reason that I like white so much is that it’s the colour of rice and milk. I love rice and milk more than anything. Rice makes my tummy happy and milk makes me smile.

These are my favourite colours: blue and yellow and white, because they are my home. They are what I know.

There is one other colour that I see – brown. Brown like eyes. Brown like bars. Brown isn’t one of my best colours; I would prefer not to see brown. But it is there every day, blocking my view of my window. I wish I could move it out the way, but I can’t. And I’ve tried, oh yes, pushing and pulling and even chewing on the brown doesn’t do a thing, except hurt. I don’t like hurt.

Hurt is horrible, but hungry is worst. Hungry is always there, like a buzzing fly that I can’t swat away, or the brown. When the window turns blue like my walls, and when the window turns black like hair, hungry goes away for a while. That’s when I get my rice and milk. I love my rice. I love my milk. They are white, like teeth.

The colours are: brown, blue, yellow and white. Brown is the worst and white is the best.