Ugh, she hated being the first layer. She was always so spread out and disconnected from herself. Even worse, she was claustrophobic, and all of these other colors on top of her were just not helpful. Blue continued to grumble as she peeled herself off of the paintbrush, and met the cool canvas. She had an odd relationship with Painter’s brushes; she always felt used by the harsh utensils. They were so close to one another for a few moments, and then Blue would be scraped off and washed away. But she never stopped going back; it was always Blue, the brushes, and Painter’s new canvas.
“Hey, Blue, how are you today?” asked White as he was curved himself around her.
“I’m alright, a little uneven, but what can you do. You look a little darker than usual, what’s up?”
“Oh, Painter forgot to clean the brushes last night, so I think I’ve got a little Black with me right now,” White settled in, and began to dry. Blue felt the two of them cling to each other, and the canvas, and watched as Painter scrubbed one of the brushes in the water bowl. Blue wondered what they would become in an hour. She felt a particular roundness to her shape, but couldn’t place it yet- she needed more colors before really understanding what she was. For now it was just Blue and White, nothing more nothing less. Soon, Painter would add more and more layers, and she would feel herself being covered up slowly. She’d sit still, and a blanket of Violet, Yellow, and Black would join her on the canvas.
Blue hated the look in Painter’s eyes; there was never love within them until the very end. Painter’s eyebrows were always too scrunched, and their lips were too pouted for Blue to feel beautiful. If she could blush, and bow her head she would, but all she could do was spread herself out and be scrutinized. There was no hiding from Painter.
“Ouch!” Blue said. She felt an aggressive hit, and a sharp scraping across her middle. She felt herself being pulled apart and mixed with another coat of White. Blue hated it when Painter didn’t wet the brush before adding a new color; it meant grating layers together, and never blending, only being cracked and broken in the same space. She felt White disappear, and watched as a new color appeared, and a part of herself transitioned into Baby Blue.
“That was horrible,” said Baby Blue.
Baby Blue shifted uncomfortably, unable to properly settle in. It was always hard when these kind of relationships were formed. The colors never knew how to work together, they could only fight each other for the spotlight, and pretend their scratchy layers were beautiful. Blue fought for air as Painter added more shadows and highlights, she was being coated in Lavender’s and Violet’s; soon, she would be a boring base layer, only a transition tone.
Suddenly Blue felt herself spread out across a new section of canvas. It was smooth this time, she was full, and bold. She was Blue. Nothing else, just Blue. She felt herself grow and become thicker as Painter added more and more Blue to the same part of canvas.
“Wow, Blue! Painter seems really happy with you today,” remarked White.
“I know, do you know what we are yet?” Blue asked, smiling.
“I’m not sure something, weird though. I feel a little dizzy, I keep getting put down in circles.”
“Me too, I’m all over the place,” said Yellow, as she was added to Blue’s right. Painter was getting excited now, there was no more pouting, or scrunched eyebrows. Blue felt curls form across her stomach and she was no longer afraid to breathe.
Suddenly she felt it.
They were the night sky.
They were working together, no longer fighting for attention but fighting for each other. Blue swirled with Yellow, and even if she wasn’t moving, she could pretend they were dancing across the canvas. Black chuckled below her, and stood boldly, shaking hands with Green. It was always hard to layer over Black, but tonight they were partners. White and Yellow hugged, and created a warm glow within Blue’s stomach.
She was everywhere. She was everything. She was the Starry Night.