Mr. Blue: III

Dreams so often run aground; Mr. Blue silently contemplated whilst sitting in the dark in front of a shuttered window. He’d been contemplating a lot. He’d been contemplating so much his chest hurt, and his stomach was feeling queasy. He hadn’t eaten in days, but that had nothing to do with it. Thoughts are far more effective at making someone vomit. It felt like the world came tumbling down, yet, when he looked outside – Mr. Blue doesn’t go there all to often – the world was still spinning. As if nothing changed at all. That’s when Mr. Blue shut the blinds, shook his head, and turned off the lights.

His dreams, Mr. Blue would prefer not to remember. He didn’t used to remember them. Sleep was black and soothing back then. Waking up just followed falling asleep without fault. If you’d ask him how he’d spent his slumber, oblivion would’ve been the only answer. Now Mr. Blue goes roaming. Now he travels more asleep than he ever did awake. Now Mr. Blue is on the verge of exhaustion. He’d give his soul for it all to go away. Mr. Blue just wants it all to stay. Wants just one more visit. Each night. For it to never go away. Away would be a blessing, he would sometimes say; not at all often. He promised to himself: when sleep comes, he’d be there. He’s a man built up out of indecision. Or of contradictions. He’d prefer the latter but secretly knows it’s the first. You’d never get Mr. Blue to confess though, he doesn’t even let himself believe so.

Mr. Blue doesn’t really know himself so… he just figures no one else does either. They’re just too afraid, or busy to admit it. And changing that, he wouldn’t even know where to begin. What he was changed so often all of a sudden. He once thought he knew others though. He didn’t. How would he? When they too change more than they can fathom? Mr. Blue’s just what he is, a man sitting in front of a shuttered window, contemplating the same things over and over. As if thinking would change things. He knows it doesn’t but doesn’t want to confront this. He just tries to keep busy. He mostly fails to do so. Scratches his skin and wails and trembles. It doesn’t change things. He’s still sitting in a dark room in front of shuttered windows.

Mr. Blue sometimes almost gets to the point of opening the blinds again. So far, he hasn’t. The sun just might be shining outside. The world might still be there. He doesn’t want to see it, cause, in the end it’s just like Heine once said: O schöne Welt, du bist abscheulich!

And so Mr. Blue just keeps on sitting, in a dark room, in front of a shuttered window.