Blue

• Janitta Thorn, Grade 7, Holy Family Primary School
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'Read Write Repeat 2015' competition

I wake up to the sound of a warble coming from outside, faint bird songs chiming and blending in with the note. It sounds distant, but oh so familiar. It’s a muffled sound and goes for about five minutes—then it stops. But the mellifluous noise keeps ringing in the back of my mind, replaying over and over. I sit up and look out the window, waiting for the sound to come back. Eventually it does, and as I realise the source of the music tears start to prick in my eyes. Mother is singing again.
before
Today is a blue day, which means mother has locked herself in her room for the whole day and left my brothers and I to care for ourselves, just for the twenty-four hours. Sometimes it’s more. Sometimes it doesn’t end.
Breakfast is easy. When the boys walk past mother’s room and see the bold, blue circle stuck onto the door, they turn quiet and walk downstairs in silence. They put their cereal bowls away themselves and finish their drinks. They don’t say a rude thing to each other when they're inside the house, in range of mother. They know she stresses over their relationship. They wait until they're outside to have pointless banter—but they’re boys, they can be a little rude to each other if they want to. The day goes by normally and I sit on the living room couch reading 'The Great Gatsby' with the faint sound of the TV in the background. I can hear the quintet of boys outside. It’s not uncommon for them to start singing mid-chores, but it’s been a while since I’ve heard them harmonise this well with each other. They stopped when the oldest’s voice began to crack, but it’s been four years and now they're creating the perfect falsetto musical. If only I remembered where I placed my composing stick—I hid it away a year after mother started having blue days. Then everything goes quiet, but I hear muffled laughing. After a few minutes, the sound of triplet notes ring into my ears and I have to force myself not to get up and retrieve my composing stick. It takes a lot of self-control around these boys, I think, and it makes me strong. I don’t think they know that I can hear them. They probably wouldn't want me to.