willow tremblay | d3

Let's talk about the colour blue.

Mainly because I find it the most interesting. Blue is the colour of the sky, the sweater grandma gave me (but didn't knit) and the colour my tongue goes when I eat blueberries. Water is sometimes blue but not always and while it looks blue in the ocean or in a river, if you cup it in your hands it looks clear. 'Clear' means that you can see through it.

I don't get that, how something like a colour can be seen through but then again, I've really only just begun to grasp the concept of colour anyway.

King says that blue looks good on me so I guess that means blue is soft, like my favourite silk shirt and bitter-sweet like the blue curacao my brother made me choke down at his last party. Blue is a roll of thunder and sudden downpour soaking through my clothing and the way it feels when I am laying in the bathtub afterwards, water up to my neck.

But King says that's wrong, that thunder clouds are grey.

Grey is a whole other ballpark.

He says that grey is smoke, which is what smells like ashes and spice. It makes my eyes water and burn with heat, but then he turns around and says that grey is also the colour of father's hair and spoiled meat. He says that Ayla, the house cat, is grey too and Ayla has claws which I have felt often. Her cuts sting suddenly like a little burn, different from a paper cut. King says that grey is the colour of the sky sometimes too, mainly when it's not blue.

I think it's just one of those things that I'm never going to be able to fully understand.

I find it endlessly interesting how colour affects things so much for people that can see. King says that sometimes the colour of something changes the way that he feels about it. I've never seen colour, not once, so I have no idea what I don't have and I don't feel like I'm missing out. Asking me to see with my eyes would be like me asking you to suddenly start seeing with the back of your knees or something but that part of you can't see right?

Well my eyes don't see.

It's only a little awkward when you're the second son in one of Three's most elite families and expected to be just as talented as your older brother if not better. It's not like I hate King for that, no way, he's my big brother and I love him just like everyone else does. He's the prodigal son, I'm the kid standing in his shadow and I truly do not mind.

King says that I don't look blind so it's always a shock for people when they find out. I don't wear sunglasses or walk with a cane, hell, I don't even get a dog for my trouble. Mom and Dad are very into keeping up appearances and they don't want anyone thinking us weak, so that means I have to rely on my other senses to get about and the blessing of a well-placed wall. I just move slow and expect everyone else to get out of my way, which they do because I'm King's little brother.

It helps being a Tremblay too I guess, my family has had a hand in building the computer systems that Capitolites use for the last however many years. My Mom has even been to the Capitol a few times for it and probably half the parents of the kids in my school work for us. So they all love King but no one really seems to like me much. Sometimes I hear whispering about me as I walk by, about how I'm a rude snob who thinks he's all that.

To set the record straight, I don't think I'm rude or a snob I just think I might struggle because it's hard to pick up on social queues when about 90% of them are physical. How am I supposed to know when I'm being smiled at, you know? There are some things that I'm not so good at because the world isn't really set up for people like me but I don't really mind. I have my methods of getting around and a comfortable life so I can't complain.

I get lonely, of course I do, but that's ok. I'm a big reader, not in so many words of course, at least not the written kind. There's a precious few amount of books written in brail to be found but Dad always makes an effort to source them for me. My parents are ashamed of me but the more well-read I am, the better. Sometimes the books are just translated from the written word, but every now and then Dad brings me a book that was actually written by the blind.

My favourite has always been this thin book of poems. I carry it with me everywhere and when I'm feeling anxious, I run my fingers over the brail on any page and feel better. I think I'd like to be a poet too, there are so many beautiful things to write about and so many concepts I want to put down on paper. I'm running out of space in my head for it but my poetry goes quiet, unspoken, at least until I find someone to share it with.

And King says that loneliness isn't a colour but a shade, the deepest and darkest one. Dark is just the absence of light and light is the warmth of the sun on my skin on a summer afternoon and Ayla's little body curled up on my chest at night, so I get that one.

Truly, I do.