I took a blue pill and the rain started. It was a mobile, because I wanted to watch the television. No TV on the beach with the blue sand. The place where you go to cry. Who wrote these pills? Who decided that water and sadness are forever connected? Maybe I shouldn't have bothered. Maybe I should've gone the whole nine yards, taken a green -swallowed the Peace- and got some time out in that sunny meadow. I always found though, that when you come back from Peace, nothing has changed. It's counter productive, not even that; it's just not worth your while.
So, I took a blue pill, a mobile, and the room filled up with rain, with shadows from the windows, rolling down the walls, soaking into the carpet. The TV came on. Repeats. Tinted blue from the light and the colour in my bloodstream. My eyes should be black -they're blue. All I see is blue. Who put the colours to the feelings? Feeling blue -that's what it's called- I guess that one was a given.
I shouldn't need the pills to feel sad watching what I've lost. He was like a god to these people, that's what I kept thinking, but he was just a friend to me. Just. I didn't say goodbye and I didn't shed a single tear, not even now when it's raining outside and the smell of water is just as blue as the light from the television. These pills can mess your head up something good. They might be able to make androids cry, but human beings can be more unemotional than machines. There are no blue tears on my face.
The repeats are on already. Normally, you wouldn't even get that. It was the show that broke you. The life. Or the truth. I'm not so sure. You overreacted. You were made to overreact. Makes for some good telly. So, you're the worlds most advanced genetical experiment -so what? Just another test-tube baby. At least they built you to be loved, that's more that most people get. A whole city -a whole world- watching and caring. How many people would kill for that? You think they did you wrong. Maybe you were the first one, the only one, to be done right. Just because you're new doesn't make you less real. Watching the repeats, I realise you were too real. A high-res original where the rest of us are just blurry photocopies of our parents. I don't care. That face, blue through my eyes now, white hair blue. Get over yourself. You're no god to me, just a friend. Just. Life goes on. The blues will clear. The faint sound of waves crashing against the wall outside, where there should only be a car park, will fade soon. Eventually, even the rain might stop. But I guess I'll miss that smile. The steady stream of forgiveness I was never spoiled with before. All the times I brought you down -knocked you down- they were all absolved. You made it look easy. I didn't deserve it but maybe you were engineered to forgive. The genetic profile of a saint. If good is in the DNA.
It's getting dark, night filtering through the perpetual twilight of Blues Beach. Maybe the drug is wearing off. I can't tell, I feel the same. Blue. Empty. Artificial emotions or real ones, I guess all comes down to the same thing. It's ended. The last episode has aired and there won't ever be any new ones made. The fanatical followers will have to accept the absence of their angel. My friend's gone. The rain is still falling. And we're all watching the repeats.