Disclaimer: The author of this fanfiction does not, in any way, profit from the story. All creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).
Life in a Bottle
by Pout
I.
“If you could choose any color life you wanted, what would you choose?”
“Not red, that’s for certain.”
“Definitely, too bloody. Life of a warrior, for sure.”
“Eh, I’m not practical enough for blue.”
“No business mogul for you.”
“Not yellow either, way too happy.”
“No green either, right?”
“Too spiritual.”
“How about orange?”
“What is that? Fiery and filled with challenges, no thanks.”
“Black?”
“Short and painful? No.”
“White?”
“Boring.”
“So then purple?”
“Blood and business means mob. No.”
“Pink?”
“Nah; it’s a candy color.”
“So...”
“I’d pick gray. Boring but short, completely safe.”
“Well, then why not a dark yellow: happy but short?”
“You can’t do that. You can’t just add a “dark” on.”
“Why not?”
“Because they don’t sell them like that.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“...”
“Let’s go to bed.”
II.
I uncorked the bottle; don’t ask me how. The bottle itself is absolutely glorious, but it’s what’s inside that I want. A mass of color, like a rainbow tossed in the dryer. It’s life in a bottle. My life, the one I chose.
The contents come splashing out, waves of color and promise. I taste a bit of that yellow in there. I taste the orange, like tangerines, like mangos and sun, like danger. The smell of blue is in there, softened to an aqua, highlighted with hints of gold and purple, violet really. Indigo latches onto silver, and red and white dance through a glob of green.
They thin to strands, a yarn of multiple colors. They run through me, around me, weaving me, weaving through me. At first I’m scared, because all life starts with that primitive, non-essential fear. They pull me tighter, pull me into myself and bind me to reality. I see green, purple and red, white and silver, flashes of yellow, traces of blue. I remember the yellow, cling to the yellow. And the pink. But I don’t remember the pink. No one ever remembers the pink.
III.
He opened his eyes and saw heaven. It was a store, like a candy store, but without the red and white stripes. The lights above him were brilliant and holy. His eyes that weren’t eyes saw shiny bottles and trinkets on polished shelves. His legs that weren’t quite legs floated him to the counter. He felt like a six year old with a nickel asking for a gumdrop.
“Hello there.”
“Hello,” he answered. “I...” he didn’t know what to say; he didn’t know how to say it.
“Come on now. Take a look. What color would you like?”
“I... I don’t know. I didn’t know...”
“Over here. Here are some nice ones. Got this pretty one here, see that? That’s a vein of blue in there.”
“It’s very nice.”
“More red for you? If you liked the last-”
“No.” He was forceful. “No red.”
“Yellow?”
“Green and yellow, with some orange, please.”
“Absolutely.” There was a pause as bottles were moved about. “That’s quite a change from the red. Last bottle wasn’t quite what you expected, was it?” It wasn’t really a question.
“I don’t remember.”
“You had some pink.”
“What?”
“The last bottle had some pink in it. Would you like some pink?”
“No. I can’t remember it.”
Flashes: blonde strands on pillows of white moonlight, soft skin and aching, breath, blue eyes, and painted lips promising.
“It was always her.” It was a revelation that saved him. He was relieved.
“That’s the way things go.” The bottles chimed delicately. “Would you like the pink?”
“Yes. Please,” he answered. “I’d like the pink.”
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