All the Colours

Cynthia hasn’t seen Justin for days, and maybe that wouldn’t scare her, but their last encounter was taut with his angry silence and her uncertain attempts at conversation.

Cynthia stands behind the curtain, to the side of the floodlights, where Dr.Kane balances two clipboards in her hands.

“Ready, Cynthia?” Dr.Kane asks, absently. She isn’t expecting an answer. Her mind is already on the runway, and Cynthia’s future walk along it.

Cynthia moves her hands restlessly at her sides, and resists the impulse to brush her fake eyelashes with her fingertips.

“Where is Justin?” she asks.

Dr.Kane does not glance up as she exchanges one clipboard for another. The click of her pen makes Cynthia’s heart skip.

“Justin’s gone.”

“No.” The word falls from Cynthia’s mouth like a gunshot.

“He’s at Boston University. He moved into residence on Tuesday.”

The rest of Cynthia’s words die in her throat. The floodlights blur like sunspots on a camera.

“Cynthia, are you alright?” This time, Dr.Kane is expecting answer.

Cynthia nods. “Justin-“

But the speakers are turned on, and in the din of the audience and the music, Dr.Kane does not hear her reply.

She gives Cynthia a gentle shove onto the stage, with what could be construed as affection, were her hands not ice cold.

Cynthia’s feet pull her body like an anchor. She is already sinking when she reaches the edge of the stage.

The crowds are a mass of colour; swirls of dots of faces with eyes that never bother to see.

But then Cynthia’s eyes feel warm, and the faces blur together.

Because the colours all form Justin.

Art by Cynthia L.

Text by Lucie MacAulay