Gasoline Rainbows

[10.02.01] » by Granacci

I had a dream last night. We all danced in circles, with fathoms of music weighing down upon us, the air like lead. It swallowed me into its heavy berth and I threw my head back to swing in rhythm.

Ecstasy? Emotion? No, these things do not suit me.

My dress swished around me in a great veil of threat. And then he was there, glaring, staring, or maybe just glancing at me with those glacial eyes. I danced away, ignoring his presence. Still he leaned against the wall staring into the sky as if none of the world existed except for him.

The stars twinkled so subtly over us all, casting a natural sort of faraway light I couldn't quite place the origins of. Dancing, in and out, weaving in between such decoration. And him, flawless…flawlessly cutting through me with his icicle eyes. Dark, serious eyes devoid of any emotion.

This isn't a dream, is it? So it makes a difference what I do and do not choose to do. And I never had a choice, so what's the difference between my dreams and this reality. Or rather, perhaps, this is all someone else's dream.

Maybe hers. Over there, the childlike girl in the white dress. White. Yes, you're pure. Flaunt it. Is that all you have? My dream isn't looking at me anymore…was he ever?

He's looking at purity over there laughing like she owns the world. You think you can leash this planet with a rope of innocence? You can do that to anyone who isn't innocent themselves as they are drawn into you, remembering when they were like you and wishing they still were. So why isn't it working on me? I'm no innocent.

She stirs up the underlying tension in a swirl of colour, like gasoline leaking its blood on the pavement. You swirl the puddle of gasoline, and it turns the beautiful rainbow colours of colour spectrum. You iridescent ingenue…you seem to think you are the color spectrum. Then why are you wearing white?

The rain will come to wash away all of your pretty puddles of gasoline in a swirl of screaming color. When you rub off the spectrum, and take off the white dress, you're no better than me. Will a squall be your rain, or must I wash away your gasoline rainbow myself?

Be optimistic, be heartfelt and genuine. Live in the white dress all of your life and overcome darkness… You're so sweet it's making me sick, with your dress and your quizzical flirtatious looks. I know he'll get roped in. Even the storm doesn't know when it will pass.

They have a name for people like me, but I don't want to know what it is. Right now, I am Instructor. Nothing more, nothing less.

But not you. You must be pure and you whore it. Me with my pink dress, you with your white. I reflect and broodingly watching over all that I love. You must be pure, you must be the martyr who will sweep us all away with your selfless gestures.

Could you, wicked angel, love a passing storm?

Did I say you'd vanish when the torrents of rain would wash you away, Mistress of the Spectrum? You think yourself whole, and pure? All I ask is questions…more and more questions.

I stop. I look. He doesn't look back because he's looking at you. You broke the tension, you stopped the storm with your own unsettling calm.

Maybe it is I who will vanish.