Dancing in Rainbow Rain

A Story by Devinouse

a child who has never seen the light of day and a doctor who has grown sick of the same daylight find the beauty of life through the colors of the sky

A newborn babe would enter the world, raging against death--"the most prime instinct of any human. They would heave; relish the exuberance of the air, letting it enter their lungs to produce the zenith of all sounds, a cry. Loud, screeching and demanding the attention of everyone in the room.

He was different, however. His lungs gave way the moment he heaved, trying to portray his vitality. The whiteness of his eyes were red instead, contrasting his pupils that wanted nothing more than to display that it had life. That he had life!

When the mother didn’t want him and the father didn’t fight for him, the responsibility was pushed onto the faceless doctors of The Stonewall Hospital--"a bleak settlement where the living would make a mockery of the sick, flaunting their vigor guising as ‘rounds’ whilst prolonging the predestination of every human, death.

He didn’t have a name. The doctors called him ‘Patient 71’ or simply ‘71’. He didn’t know why. Why would he? He couldn’t even grasp whatever the sounds the doctors were making whenever they opened their lips. Nobody bothered teaching him anything, much less telling him that his name wasn’t a name but a statistic.

So the abandoned baby known as 71--now five-years-old--could be found in room 12-5 of Montgomery Hall in the Stonewall Hospital.

He was lying down on his hospital bed; his only company was the smell of antiseptic wafting the air, the hypnotic sound the beep beep beep of the heart rate monitor filling the emptiness of his four, white corners people call ‘his room’ with a single light bulb connected to the ceiling, flickering yet determined to fulfill its purpose which was to light up the room as minute as it was. It felt as if he was inside a teacup filled with black tea, the only movement in the room is his chest, slowly rising up and falling down in a monotonous rhythm and the dust swimming in the air.

But that wasn’t true! He had company. The three doctors that came in and out, quickly entering only to do business before leaving him all alone again.

How he relished those visits, however brief they might be.

Their plush lips opening and closing, releasing sounds like “how are you today?”, “you aren’t getting any better” and “do you even understand me, 71”?

71 liked the former sentence the best!

How their plush, red lips pursed, forming ‘os’ and bigger ‘os’ but not before closing and opening again, releasing scents like bitter coffee in the morning and sour alcohol in the night! Then, their mouth would stretch, giving him a full view of their white and yellowing teeth. Their tongue rolling to perform the most simplest of sounds, auditory devices in which humans--"like him!"--could hear and understand. The response the team of doctors also baffled him!

When do you nod? When do you smile? When do you frown? When do you cry?

Oh, how he wanted to know the answers to those questions that had been gnawing his void of a brain!

But 71 learned somehow! When their Adam’s Apple bob up and down, only before they gulp in whatever it is inside their mouths, they would lick their dry, chapped and pale lips before saying ‘Seven-tee Won’, him! How did he know? Well, their eyes would often turn to him, pupils dilating while their eyebrows furrow. Their tone would always be sharp, brief and concise, as if the very movement of the tongue whenever they utter the number ‘71’ disgusted them.

One doctor was different.

It was the third doctor.

Frankly, that man scared 71. He looked like all the other doctors, always frowning, eyebrows always tightly knitted together but the tenor of his voice, the hoarseness of his tone, those were what frightened 71. It frightened him even though it shouldn’t. He felt bad, of course. The third doctor didn’t do anything bad--whatever bad is.

71 readied himself in anticipation, gulping in air like a two-year-old trying to hold water in his pudgy little hands. He was going to hear words again! A fire lit inside his belly, swirling around his veins as he waited, the vibrating ecstasy forcing his lips to upturn. Whenever his lips turned into a curve, the doctors would mirror them but upside-down. 71 would often try to force his lips upside-down like the other doctors but he just couldn’t.

Instead, the third doctor perfectly mimicked whatever his lips were doing! The upturny-thingy!

He produced strange amalgamation of leather and paper with strange lines and curves etched onto its crimson cover. The third doctor stretched his hand, the book practically inches away from 71’s face.

71’s face morphed into shock, his eyebrows rose as his mouth opened wider than necessary.

It was a different smell! Unlike the antiseptic and alcohol of his closed off room, it smelled crisp, like vanilla flowers meeting with almonds in a summertime date. He didn’t know what any of those are but they must smell nice!

And so he opened the book, revealing the same strange lines and scribbles etched onto the yellowing papers. The third doctor opened his mouth and said “Ay,”

71 blinked, tilting his head to the side slightly in confusion.

The third doctor’s index pointed onto his lips, which opened wide and said “Ay”.

…what?

Again, the third doctor repeated “Ay,”

And something overcame 71. Was it an instinct? He didn’t know. But whatever it was, it was hungry. Like a flame flickering onto his brain, the orifice that connected his stomach sensuously groaned in hunger at the response of the heat. It pounded his esophagus as 71 gathered air yet again, relishing the taste of the vanilla that the book gave-off, tasting the syllable in sensuous rhythm, the jaws of his mouth slightly opening as his throat released the sound of that was five-years-too-late.

“…Ay?”

The doctor’s smile made the light bulb look like a candle in the dark. Grinning, the third doctor said "Bee".

Now understanding what he wanted to 71 to do, 71 repeated it and said "Bee".

Their session stretched for four hours, them bouncing off the letters like an angry Ping-Pong competition. When they had reached “Zee,” The third doctor got up, closed the book and left his room, letting the wooden door close with a soft creak.

Quietly, 71 repeated the new sounds the third doctor had presented to him. “Ay”.

His lips curved yet again but this time, he released a new sound. A ‘hehehe’, soft and light, the loud hum of amusement overtaking the usual beeping of the heart monitor.

Flabbergasted, 71 touched his lips, feeling the soft, warm skin.

And so again, curiosity gnawing every pore that enraptured his body, he let out an unsure “Bee”.

Yet again, the same sound escaped the prison of his teeth!

Excitement melted onto his veins. He couldn’t wait to see the third doctor again!

He did see him again. Again and again and again! It was almost as if the two other doctors were gone, replaced with this man with a swirling storm caged within his eyes. Betraying that melancholy was his smile, ever beaming and ever present whenever he taught 71 new words. Although those new words were long and complicated and often tired 71 out to the point of exhaustion, he continued his studies with urgency he didn’t know he had.

In the middle of their session of storytelling and word-learning, 71 couldn’t help but ask “Doctor, what’s a sky?”

The word sky had often popped up in between their lessons but it didn’t have a picture in the book. He couldn’t associate the word with anything and that bothered 71.

The third doctor’s eyebrows knitted and his lips parted, almost resembling the other three doctors 71 was accustomed with. “It’s the roof of the outside. But unlike your white ceiling, the colors change.”

“A changing ceiling?!” 71’s mouth gaped in awe. He couldn’t fathom that. When the third doctor had read him a book about wizards and witches, there was a castle that would change the ceiling to resemble the night sky. 71 couldn’t picture in his steadily filling mind but the concept of looking up and finding something other than the bleak white excited him.

“Yes. The ceiling of outside.” The third doctor had nodded.

Again, 71 asked, his voice lacing with curiosity “What’s outside?”

The third doctor’s lips opened and closed again, his mind churning before settling with “That’s a place, like your room, but bigger and way more colorful.”

“Colorful?!” 71’s high-pitched voice cracked. “Oh, I want to see!”

“You know you can’t.” The third doctor’s face tightened as the storm in his eyes increased its magnitude, his frown perfectly encapsulating what he thought of 71’s idea, which was stupid. Just positively stupid. “Your time in this world is nearly up. You shouldn’t stretch it.”

“I know, Doctor.” 71 huffed, the action causing labored breathing after. “My lungs can’t handle outside air. If I go out, I’ll die--whatever that means. But I really wanna see the ‘outside’ and the ‘sky’.” He recited the long spiel of his diagnosis which he now understood, thanks to the third doctor.

The third doctor frowned. Bringing patients in critical condition outside was unacceptable and would lead to immediate termination. The third had worked tirelessly to get the job and position he had now. Why should he sacrifice that for one child who was about to die, anyway?

But that was the reason why he should be brought outside. No human being should die without seeing the sky at least once.

However, the outside world isn’t as banged up as it’s built to be according to the story books the third doctor would bring for 71.

No, wait. It was exactly that.

The outside world was thoroughly beaten and banged up.

History is a business woman’s red ledger and technology was the oppressive force that drives science to further its shocking revelations, with speed that would run over any person that would dare try to understand it.

And here 71 is, with that naïve smile, thinking the world is just like how it is in the story books with princesses that need saving and baskets that needs delivering despite the looming threat of participating in the game called “predator versus prey”. With his beady little eyes, he clamored for his wish to see what lies beyond his beyond. And his beyond was only defined as those white concrete walls parallel to his hospital bed.

“Fine. But just this once.”

So the pair snuck out in the middle of the night, hiding underneath the veil of nocturne stillness of Stonewall Hospital. 71’s wheelchair, which was being pushed by the reluctant third doctor, rolled through the pristine white tiles of the hospital in silence. 71 was practically vibrating in his seat, his Cheshire grin failing to epitomize the sheer joy that he was feeling.

The double doors that led to the hospital’s garden creaked open, signaling 71--who was essentially an alien--coming onto the Earth in which he was born in.

Although 71 didn’t see the intricate black fences that surrounded the garden filled with the reds, oranges and yellows of flowers that neither of the, could specifically name, he didn’t complain. His chin tipped upwards, his eyes moving swiftly and hungrily, trying to capture the sight he saw as he forced his brain to burn the image onto its forefront.

“Wow…” 71 muttered.

Although the air was flooded with bedtime chilliness, the warmth of pleasure overwhelmed 71 was he stared up on those white freckles of the midnight blue face as if it was giving him a bright smile. Its single argent eye dotted with holes, stared down on him in silvery tenderness, neither happy nor sad, only ever-present like the flowery scent of the hospital garden which intruded 71’s nostrils uninvited but not unwanted with its sweet, unfulfilled promise of nectar and springtime.

It was amazing! It wasn’t like anything in his room. Instead of white coating his entire existence, it was black this time. But not exactly black, but more like a filter of charred sapphire, its luster still shining through its ebony. However, because of the dim lighting, he couldn’t appreciate what else the world had to offer.

The glassy sky had richly compensated for that, though.

The third doctor grinned; basking at the joy 71 was extruding. That sickly patient of his continued to surprise him. In the ocean of schadenfreude, 71 was a breath of fresh air. His innocence reminded the third doctor about a time before, a happier time smuggled with the summer breeze and mother’s cookies that would immediately melt into his mouth, the chocolate was silky smooth as it slid down his throat while he relished in the sweetness. That was a time when his mother had never lied when she said “I love you.”

Now? He had to work to get her love. That was the sole reason why he became a doctor in the first place.

He shook his head, trying to escape from those fond memories. It’s not like he was going to experience them any time soon, anyway. As he said before, that was a time before.

He learned that he didn’t need love. It took time to absorb that lesson, but he did in the end. Somebody might love you but prosperity is ultimately what gives you true security. He doesn’t believe that he should expect another human being to be responsible for his own happiness.

Pessimistic? It was realistic. It was a pragmatic way of going through things. He, himself, is fundamentally responsible for his own joy.

Too many people are incapable of dignity and honor, let alone real love. People love others through a prism. Only a brief spectrum of color is allowed to shine through, which is what they choose what colors to show and let the others die and diffuse from the spectrum of their personality. Nobody can tell who is going to be treated like trash or like gold in the beginning thanks to the multitudes of personas and masks people make. Those people fool themselves so well, they fool us--fool him.

Perhaps enduring loneliness is invariably better than suffering the compromises of a false relationship, regardless of its context. Perhaps loneliness is the price that he may have to pay for holding on to what true, sincere ambitious views of what companionship must and could be.

It was a danger that he couldn’t dare to look in the eye. The abyss of love doesn’t gaze back at you. It reaches out, whispering promises of courtship and security and only gives back the inevitable pain.

And like a true doctor--he believed that avoidance is better than a cure.

He relished the routines he had. The sureness of the equinox of day and night--wake up in the morning and sleep at the evening. Monotonous, yes, but it didn’t bring about change. Change is scary.

A millionaire might wake up to find themselves completely broke with no way of bouncing back. A singer could discover that they had lost their voice.

Security, professionalism and guard are the three things that has kept him alive all these years.

So, trying to claw whatever professionalism he had left, the third doctor looked down to see 71 motionless, his head lolling to the side. Panic set forth like an emptiness swirling the third doctor’s gut as he deftly rolled 71’s wheelchair back to his room.

Thankfully, tomorrow greeted them with the shining promise of life as 71’s eyes blinked open.

Sadly, he had to open his mouth and say “I want to go out again!”

It was the third doctor’s turn to feel dumb. He had to recover from his stupor so that he could utter a single and indignant “what?”

“I want to go again!” 71 said, bounding with joy and expectancy like a child who had vomited riding a roller-coaster yet wanted another fix of the drug known as adrenaline.

“71…what?” The third doctor, baffled with this development, couldn’t help but shake his head. “71, may I remind you that you almost died?”

“Yeah? So?”

“If you died, then you wouldn’t get to see the sky again.” The third doctor’s eyes set in cold tundra of emotion. He knew what he said was somewhat cruel but for the sake of life, 71 had to repress that urge that would otherwise get him killed. “Besides, that trip outside the garden was wasted on you. You fainted after five minutes.”

“Well, I won’t faint again!” 71 said, his cheeks puffing as he banged his fist on his white blanket. Well, ‘banged’ was a little extreme. It was more like quickly placing a closed hand on his body. Gentle but the intent was clearly there. There was an attempt.

With his eyes that could scam a millionaire’s entire savings off of them, the third doctor couldn’t resist. “Fine,” he had relented “But this is the last time!”

And so, they quickly made their way outside, dodging the other doctors and patients who could walk while 71 was disguised as someone else with the ingenious use of mop hair, pillow feathers and an apron. Truly a master of espionage was the third doctor.

The day greeted them with a bright, gentle heat that tickled both of their skins.

Succumbing to his urges, 71 raised his head yet again.

Unlike the night, the day had clouds looked like over-sized candies that shaped into animals and, objects and whatever his imagination allowed. The sun (which he was told not to stare too much at), was a circle of yellow, wreathed with a dazzling halo of rays that pierced through the clouds and illuminated the world below generously with its incandescence. Blended together, it looked like a clean, empty face, its cloudy hairs revealing nothing, instead directing all the attention to the world below as it lit it up, as if ashamed at its emptiness.

Sadly, he couldn’t see the full brilliance of the sun and, being used to the closed and windowless room, the sunlight was frankly getting uncomfortable.

And so he saw the gilded, black cage known as the fence of the Stonewall Hospital. He didn’t bother looking at the earthbound colors of the flowers, his eyes only set onto whatever was beyond his gilded cage.

His life was a dreary routine of wake-up, eat, sleep and repeat only peppered with tasteless check-ups and salted with the occasional bath. 71 always thought that tomorrow was just something optional. It was a flickering promise that would be washed away by the rivers of time that, for him, was slowly drying up. He was so used to his flickering lights, his white room and the smooth white covers of his bed.

He wanted to see something new.

He wanted to experience the vast nowhere of outside! The ambiguity of freedom that escaped him! Even as he was bound to the wheelchair, maybe, just maybe, only for a second, he could finally breathe and not respirate, finally see instead of look, listen instead of hear and live while feeling alive.

71 pointed at it the black gate and turned to the third doctor with an expectant smile.

He gave 71 a scathing glare. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Too late.” 71 smiled. “Please!”

The third doctor didn’t falter. “No, we’re going back into the hospital. You’ve been exposed to the outside oxygen for too long.”

71 pouted in silence as they both made their way back into the hospital which was buzzing with activity. The nurses and other residents all gave them strange glances but carried on with their rounds. They would have successfully returned back to room A-2 but only this time, they were stopped by the two other doctors.

“What are you doing with the patient, doctor?” The first one had asked, his tone pointed as much as his eyes. The first doctor’s eyes trailed to the door that the pair had just passed through and put two and two together. “What were you doing outside.”

Both 71 and the third doctor’s throat dried. Was it their imagination that the ruckus of the hospital suddenly dimmed, how the inhabitants of the Stonewall Hospital slowed and seemingly invested all of their time over this petty squabble?

To their immense relief, the second one piped up with a pacifying hand, laying it on the shoulder of the first doctor. “Doctors, please. Let’s settle this in another day. This is highly unprofessional.”

So they parted ways, the two other doctors continuing their rounds while the third doctor escorted 71 out of the hallway and into room A-2.

“So…” 71 said, eyeing the third doctor expectantly. “When are we going outside again?”

“Are you serious?” The third doctor’s mouth was wide open in shock. “Do you really want to die that bad?”

“Doctor.” 71 started a placating smile in place. “You said it yourself; I’m going to die either way. Death is like…a long sleep right? So shouldn’t I at least close my eyes seeing something beautiful?”

“No. Absolutely not.” The third doctor said, his voice firm. “We almost got caught. I could get in trouble! I can’t take any risks! In fact, I shouldn’t even have entertained your wishes.”

His feet clacked against the marble floor as his hand traced the rough, brown wood of the door. His fingers curled onto the cold golden doorknob, intent to open it, close it and walk away. Betraying his self-preservation, however, was his eyes as he looked at the five-year-old boy, his head craning to look at him as he stared at the third doctor who was leaving.

“I don’t get it.” 71 whispered. “You don’t look…happy here.”

“You don’t get a lot of things, 71.” The third doctor replied, his hand still on the doorknob but his feet refusing to budge. “And I’m perfectly content where I am.”

He hoped that 71 didn’t pick up on how his voice wavered despite the verbatim it should have been. He was perfectly content where he is. Perfectly and absolutely content!

“Words are…tricky.” 71 relented. “I never understood some of them. Better to speak with…colors. I see myself in the sky. So many colors. Where do you see yourself, doctor?”

Where did he see himself?

It shocked him that the answer came to him as quickly as thunder ripping through clouds. The thought resembled that same thunder, except it struck onto the ground, leaving its mark without intent in fading away.

“Outside the hospital gates.” He muttered.

“Then why don’t you leave?” 71 asked.

“If I leave, I won’t be able to come back to Stonewall Hospital.” He answered. He had worked hard to get here and damn everything and everyone who thinks that he wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to stay. “And so will you. If you leave one more time, then you’ll die. You’re too young to die. The world is scary, 71. It changes all too much.”

“That’s true…I think.” 71 said, unsure. “But before I go to sleep forever, I want to feel awake like it’s the first time opening my eyes. I want my eyes to see the sky again one last time. Don’t you want to go outside? I don’t believe that you want to live in this hospital forever.”

The third doctor’s first tightened around the doorknob, frowning. With those few sentences, 71 was chipping away his diamond encrusted steely resolve. It wasn’t fair that a five-year-old with no experience of the real life lectured him in what he should and shouldn’t enjoy.

But was he truly living?

That questioned burned him to ask.

“But where will I go?” he instead said.

“I don’t know.” 71 shrugged. “Just out of here. Do you need to know where to go to go somewhere? You’re always somewhere, right? Isn’t that enough?”

Was it really enough? He didn’t know. He truly didn’t. There was only one way to know and was the price of freedom a cost too high to pay? After all, he was giving away his security. A constant.

But here 71 was, constantly living a constant, the state of life the third doctor had wept, raged and cried about to get. Constant was 71’s life and he didn’t want anything to do with it. It felt like a great injustice to 71, who wanted nothing more than to see what the world was, inviting all the other colors of the world instead of black and white, not because it was easy, no, but because it was beautiful. Because it was new.

He was content and comfortable but he wasn’t really alive.

The third doctor’s hand left the doorknob as he rounded 71. “Then if so, when will we leave?”

“The night is too dark and the day is kinda hot. Isn’t there somewhere in between?” 71 recommended casually, as if he wasn’t going to die the moment they leave the hospital.

“…Are you sure? Do you really want to go outside even though you might never see the sky again?” the third doctor said.

71 merely smiled. “I am. Besides, I have a good feeling. Who knows? Maybe I might not go to sleep?”

So, after hours and hours of self-doubting and double-thinking, the third doctor mustered his courage.

‘Exhilarating’ was an adjective that did whatever feeling the third doctor was experiencing. He felt sorrow, joy, fear and bravery wrapped into one, ugly being that was inside a present, tied with a red ribbon and about to be opened. He couldn’t describe it but if he could name what the feeling felt…he supposed it felt right. Clutching the tight rubber handles of the wheelchair, his eyes went downcast to meet with 71’s own eyes, mischief excitement swirling in them.

“Are you ready for this?” The third doctor smiled down to 71, who only giggled.

“Let’s go! Fast! Fast! Fast!”

The onlookers of Hall Montgomery let out a scream as the third doctor wheeled 71 outside in a break-neck pace, the doctors dodging the unstoppable force of an old man pushing a wheelchair that contained a laughing, five-year-old boy whose life was barely contained in his fragile body.

He slammed the doors open. Immediately, he felt his hair--which was like the mountains of white pillows crowning his small head--fight against the wind. His face was wrinkled and aged which perfectly matched his deep, sunken brown eyes, lit up in excitement as the thudding of his feet mirrored the beating of his heart as they ran through the black gate.

71’s voice filled the air, laughing while tears dropped down from his eyes as his chin tilted upwards, letting the cool wind beat against his skin.

The afternoon sky was giving out one last blaze of glory, showing the million inhabitants down below that she--the sky--should never be underestimated as she fought heartily against the times, who had tried infecting her bright oranges and yellows with its cool purples and blues, morphing into a vibrant pink and red. The battle continued in its entire splendor as the puffy clouds, like an artist’s earthbound rainbow, melded together all those colors and tried to make sense of them, something Greek poets and Roman authors failed centuries before.

‘This’ 71 thought, as his body shuddered with euphoria ‘is the best time of day’.

71 watched, his eyes fluttering and cheeks wet, the vivid prismatic colors shut into the cage of the night, its nocturne blanket enveloping the pinks and oranges, suffocating it with white stars, letting the colors that he loved so much so die in asphyxiation. The battle was over and the intensity of life that the sky had displayed seemed like a million years ago as it gave way to peaceful lethargy.