Welcome Home (Color Story)

(A/N This prompt is an experiment to convey a color throughout each paragraph using descriptive imagery and emotion. Word Count: 308. )

      While you’re on tour, everything is blue. The sun beats down from a clear, morning sky. The light bounces on the ripples in the seemingly endless ocean. The men on the ship wear their Navy uniforms, and a picture of your daughter – her happy smile and bright eyes – is the only thing you need to make it through the day.

      When the ship passes through storm waters, everything is grey. The dark, swirling clouds block out the sun. The thick ocean mist blurs your vision. The roar of the waves muffle the men’s screams into dull shrills. When the ship jerks suddenly in the opposite direction, your head hits a steel door frame with dull thud. You fall unconscious.

      Mourning is darker than the storm waters; mourning is black. There’s a pit in your chest you can’t fill. The doctors say that you may never talk, let alone walk again. Permanent brain damage is the diagnosis. Your wife’s forced smile isn’t enough to hide her running mascara. Rejection leads into depression; you think you may be going mad from boredom as your body heals slower than the doctors expected. Your desire to speak cannot overtake your body’s paralysis. You take extra painkillers so you can stare at the inside of your eyelids instead of the dark corners of your hospital room.

      Recovery is a sweet pink. Your wife’s regular rosiness begins to return once she sees you walk to the Hospital cafeteria for the first time. Eventually, they allow you to return home, and you spend all that night watching princess movies on the couch with your daughter. Much to your relief, she doesn’t seem bothered by the new slur and stutter to your voice. Finally, your welcome home party can happen; your wife makes your favorite strawberry cake, and all your friends toast to glass of rose.