Blue and Green

It was a bright and early morning when Peter rose from his bed. Heaving aside his covers, he slowly stood up, keeping his balance by leaning on the bedpost. Everyone still seemed asleep. Slowly and quietly he made his way to the window. He carefully unfastened the bolts, worrying not to wake everyone up. The hinges came off and the cool morning breeze lifted the curtains, and settled right on his face. He smiled. It was his second day here and already he was drawn to one thing: the window. Resting his elbows on the ledge, he peered out at the world.

And what a difference it was -- to be on the inside, looking out. Straight across, a large liner was making its way through the channel. It was a beautiful sight: all covered in splendor and beaming with glory, it rose from the sea like a giant nestled in white. There were several people on deck, welcoming the city, and probably eager to step on the shore. Peter marveled at this sight -- the blue and green abyss, and the white giant. “When I get out of here, I’ll take a cruise” he thought. “Or maybe I’ll join the crew of a barge or a tanker. And they’ll take me away, with all worries left behind.” Grinning at the thought, he realized how just several days ago the notion would have seemed absurd. Thoughts like that did not even cross his mind. “I’ll change” he thought. “Hell, I already did…”

Glancing away from the ship, he looked downward and directly to his right, where a bakery occupied the end of the street. It was still early but an elderly couple lingered by its doors -- creatures of habit paying heed to monotonies of life. A little girl, careless and free, walked her dog down below; the little spaniel darted to and fro while the kid wrestled it for control. Suddenly the girl looked up and saw Peter; he jovially waved back.

. . .

Everyday, Peter would wake up and rise to stare at the world, making observations on his previous life, the one he left behind. One day he woke up and quietly walked over to the window. His headaches were getting worse and he knew that he was getting weaker. Struggling with the hinges, he opened it. The overcast sun lingered above him, neither welcoming him nor being elusive. The sun was indifferent that morning, and so was the sea -- glittering in the wake of the sun, calmly shifting its weight.

There was something mournful about the day. The old couple that appeared every morning was not there, and the fresh smell of bread didn’t seem to linger in the air --- casting that tangible aroma. After a while, Peter spotted the little girl; this time, she didn’t have her dog by her side. The child seemed distraught about something and did not even look up to wave at him. So, he stayed at the window for some time, trying to catch sight of a ship going to harbor; but there weren’t any ships that morning. And so the days went on and Peter wondered at the sight of the world outside. He envied it --- the living, breathing world that continued to function, impartial to his return. But he craved for the sight of it, for a glimpse, just one, however welcoming, of this bold, and apathetic realm.

On one particular morning, weak and groaning, Peter lowered himself out of bed. Finding his way, he staggered to the window. Like chains, the latches refused to release and after a lengthy struggle, he managed to pry them open. At once, a cold, bitter air ravaged the room. Outside, the wind howled and shook the terrace -- delivering chills from the cold and ruthless expanse. In place of blue and green, now was only black. Fighting off the scorching blows, Peter peered out into the darkness, and smiled.

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