Orange

Make sure you read this first.

***

One week after the funeral

It has never ceased to amaze me how people can pack up years of their lives into cardboard boxes. Today, the amazement twists into an excruciating agony, increasing with every piece of clothing and property placed into the cartons. Andrea was alive for 18 years; how are we supposed to pack 18 years into a couple boxes? But I pack in silence, not wanting to burden Mom with my pain.

"Honey."

"Yeah Mom?"

"You okay?"

The lie slips out of my mouth. "I'm alright."

Mom tilts her head in disbelief, but she doesn’t push for the truth. Rather, she silently reaches into the pile of clothes and pulls out a familiar orange hoodie.

"I thought I had thrown this away," mumbles Mom under her breath. I gave Andrea the hoodie before I went away to college three and a half years ago. It was no longer in pristine condition; the hoodie is now faded and covered in food stains and holes. I watch as Mom sits down as if weighed down by the most immense burden.

“Mom?” She stays silent. “Mom?”

Mom tosses the raggedy hoodie down on the coffee table and rubs her face. When she finally looks up at me, she is struggling to keep her composure. Her eyes are red, puffy, and holding back a small Nile worth of tears.

“Andrea wore it when she didn’t feel safe. At first, after you went away to college, she only wore it a couple of times, mostly when she had a particularly hard day at school. But during your third year in college, when Andrea was in eleventh grade, she started wearing it more.”

“Her classmates, they horribly bullied Andrea. God, they were cruel to her. I didn’t truly know how bad it was until,” Mom lets out a shaky breath before continuing, “she called me in tears because these girls took her clothes while she was showering. I went into that school and fought for her. After that, she stopped wearing the hoodie so much. I thought she was okay.”

My legs give out, causing me to plop down on the couch next to Mom, terrified of what she would say next.

“There was a teacher, the only person in her corner. He would interfere when he could, allow her in his room to get away from the others for a moment.”

Mom angrily slams her hand on her leg. “I told that…man…thank you for what he did for her. And he…”

She doesn’t finish.

She physically seems unable to.

All she does is sob into the ratty, orange hoodie as if hoping to purge the pain, heartbreak, and self-inflicted guilt, even for a moment. And all I can do is rub Mom’s back and subconsciously fill in the blanks.

If it's what I think, I get it. How are you supposed to tell someone that their little sister was taken advantage of by a man everyone thought was safe?

Because there are no words you can say to soften it, to make it easy to shallow. There is only the truth and trust me, the truth hurts sometimes.

Word Count: 532 words

***

Dear reader,

I have decided to continue with my color based series. Right now, the working title for the whole series is The Colors of Grief. (If you have a better idea, please let me know.)

Originally, the plan was to have all stories be considered micro-fiction, but after a fierce Wikipedia search (not the most reliable, I know), I have decided to call it a flash or minimalist fiction series. This allows me a little more freedom with my word count, especially for parts of Gabriel's journey dealing with his grief (and other feelings) that cannot be condensed to only 250 words. (No matter how hard you try.)

I will create a table of contents article that will most likely be titled The Untitled ROY G BIV Flash Fiction Series since I only have a working title and Vocal + does not allow you to change/fix your title once it is published. I will also be creating covers using Canva. I think it gives the stories a more personal touch. Plus, I might be slightly addicted.

Now I do have a question. How much can you push the quick edit function? I ask this because I am trying to figure out when to publish my table of contents piece. Do I go ahead and publish it in the next couple of days, adding to it when I publish a new story for the series? Or do I wait until the whole series is published and then publish the table of contents? Any suggestions? This question has been answered. (Thank you, MikeyDred!)

Now as far as a schedule - there won't be one. Having a deadline for this feels wrong and I fear it the stories that result wouldn't be that good. There is also the matter of my busy life schedule. I don't ever want my writing to become a chore, but something that helps me and others to heal.

Editing Note: After writing Yellow, I decided to change Orange from a third person point-of-view to a first person point-of-view.

Now speaking specifically about this story (and a sort of sneak peak for the next one).

Guilt, I find, is a common feeling for those who have lost someone close to suicide. There is always the questions of if you could have done more or how did you not see that they were struggling. The latter was one I asked myself a lot. But, for the most part, those feelings are invisible, hidden behind stronghold-like masks.

So please don't blame yourself. Blaming yourself will only cause you more pain in the long run.