Clutter

He looked around, blinking at the sudden bright. He squinted at the wall and tried to register his surroundings. Today was to be yellow. Sunshine, egg yolk, sundress, paint, smiley stress buster. Today the towel would be yellow, the clothes bright, everyone upbeat. He trudged silently to the bathroom, as everyone yelled out greetings. He raised a tired hand in a half wave, and closed the door softly. As the exceptionally clear water ran through his hair, he imagined the day. A yellow day. Probably ice cream and volleyball.

As he came out, in his yellow clothes, smelling of sunshine and freshly cut grass, he paused to look into the mirror. Everything was dazzling, almost blinding. It hurt his eyes, this sunshine. He walked the usual path, and strangers flashed smiles like old friends. Familiar faces called out and asked him friendly questions. He forced smiles, the way that was right, the way the day demanded. He had no reason to be otherwise, except it was difficult. He wondered why, off-hand, but didn't dwell on it for long. He walked on, towards the sun, the one thing he was sure he didn't want. But the day was yellow.

He ate pumpkins, like everyone else. He saw the same things that a yellow day offered. They were playing with water, all laughing and giggling. They squirted some on him, and he splashed some on them back. It wasn't really that hard. It wasn't as forced as it had been. He actually was having fun. It gave him a high, to be able to be happy. He wanted to be, and he was.

He walked on, as a sudden wind picked up. The day was turning blue. The dust rose with the wind and the blue smell of the air surrounded him. The leaves blew towards him, and a stray plastic bag swirled round and round in the same spot. Doors were hastily shut, and clothes left to dry removed. There was a dull thud somewhere in the background. He walked on, the path now deserted, the smiles gone. He missed yellow.