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THE DOOR CLOSED.
He made sure not to slam it, but she hardly noticed. The departure itself was enough to strike her to her core, leaving a welt traced by anguish and adorned with touches of dejection. He could have slammed every door in sight, and all she'd have cared about would be the fact that he was gone yet again.
She thought of all the empty assurances of, "It gets easier," – a short, little sentence contrived only to ensure that she wouldn't lose hope, but each and every time he left, all hope lagged behind. The walls had become suddenly bleaker, colors not as lively, and the air not as fulfilling. He who brought all the beautiful shades of unimaginable colors into her darkened life, erased them every time he reluctantly uttered the words, "I'll see you soon, Scarlett. Don't worry."
This time, however, he left her with their own child - a little boy that he'd hardly had the chance to spend any time with. When the baby's cries echoed through the hallways, pulling her from her state of grey, she saw before her an array of blue. Every shade of the saddest color to dare exist engulfed her, whispering peaceful phrases to the war waging within.
She let out a soft breath, shoulders sinking in defeat. Finally, she took a step back from where she had been standing since he attempted to piece together an adequate goodbye.
Her husband had to leave, again, to go serve their country, again. That was that. There was no grey area to it, and no grey state to linger in. Just acceptance, a sea of blue, and a screaming baby.
"Oh, hey. Look. Sky's blue. Finally."
She didn't have a response. Everything that tumbled from Subject Two's mouth was futile and pointless (and rather annoying), she thought. He was desperate for a conversation, and she was desperate for some quiet.
But nothing would ever be quiet. A baby's cries lingered in her head, echoing off every thought that tried to be coherent. It was all she could think of, all she could hear and process. The words that escaped Subject Two were just words, they held no significance and she'd never fully hear them. Her maternal side only took notice of the distant baby that just wouldn't stop crying.
It wasn't real. She knew that it wasn't. Every rational voice in her head told her to stay where she was, but the mother in her insisted that she help. She was already thinking of all the reasons the baby could be crying, silently asking herself if it had been fed or changed as if somehow the baby was her own.
