Amy, I've heard of a variant on that exercise, where it's the blue-eyed kids who are segregated. I'm glad my schools were too reactionary to do things like that.

Yup, that was second grade, a public school in Delaware. It was so awful. I mean, later I got it, but at seven, not so much. Just this awful "What did I do wrong?" and "When is this going to end?" feeling, stomach tied in knots and on teh verge of tears pretty much all day. Even then, I remember thinking they were taking it too far, the teachers, in the not smiling, not even looking at us stuff.

Here's another, because I'm all about avoiding what I'm really supposed to be doing today.

Blue Challenge, Again

Why is it, “Are you blue?” Blue isn’t sad. Blue is the sky on a crystalline, sun-spangled day, clean as a watercolor. Blue is the ocean at noon, when the sand burns through your towel. Blue is the heart of a candle’s flame. Blue is the bottom of a rocket pop, the last sticky sweetness before the rough stick. Blue is a baby’s eyes, still new, untroubled, amazed. Blue is the smoke in a crowded bar, bass pulsing through the slippery floor and your body pressed up against his, heartbeat to heartbeat.

When I’m “blue,” I’m a sour, muddy green.

Susan, you have e on the way. Loved the chapter, and am now frustrated because I don't know what happens to anyone!

Got it, thanks! Will reply more fully later when I'm not moving at full gallop in an effort to make the June 1 postmark deadline for one of these contests.

Stay asleep, little baby....just 30 minutes more.....

Everyone quiet! Annabel's sleeping!

No problem, Susan. Fingers crossed for the contest...

Blue

"Hey, look at that! Creepy!" His hand catches mine and holds my fingernails up to the light. "Blue!"

I yank my hand back, embarrassed. "They just do that." Reflexively, I make a fist, try to get the blood flowing again, pump my hand open and closed.

No one else seems to even feel it, but the chill and damp is settling onto me, a familiar cloak. It wraps across my shoulders and down my arms, stiffening my bones.

I'm cold. I'm always cold. Surreptitiously turning up the heat, standing over the vent, wearing an extra sweater when everyone else is in short-sleeves, welcoming the blanketing humidity as it coaxes out the ache.

Blood is blue until it hits the air. I am always shocked when I cut myself and see that brilliant red. Nothing that fiery can possible flow through my body.

Tiptoeing into the thread, so as not to wake Annabel, I post a "Blue" drabble:

The walls were pale blue with the faintest hint of gray, between a conservative blue shirt and a blueberry smoothie. The room was one of 20 rooms: three laundry rooms, five baths, two kitchens. "That's just the color I need for my bedroom," she thought. She stared at the salvaged heart pine floors and the custom windows. "It's probably made from pigment ground from an endangered berry found only in the highest Andes."

She looked at the sunlight, the space, the fine woodwork. She didn't want the house. She didn't want the life it represented. She just wanted the blue.

Deb, guh... AmyLiz, that's intense... I'm gonna have to think...and stop abusing ellipses.

Second. Memory. Very porny memory. My Dane was fun.

Memory of Peder, Cote d'Azur

The plage in Nice is small rocks, rather than sand. Curve west up the coast and you're in Cannes, where the professionally fabulous splay out on lounges. But this is a hard surface, and it's after midnight. There's almost no one else around.

Sky, water, indigo and sapphire. The Mediterranean runs into the horizon, stretching out over Africa in the distance.

He has his hand on your ass, tugging the bikini bottom down hard and fast. You can't keep your balance; you fight for breath.

As he takes you, one eye meets sky meets water and the universe is blue.

I abuse ellipses all the time. Poor things.

KristinT, I love this. The embarrassment over something you can't control anyway, the shock of red when you "see" blue veins. Lovely.

And Ginger, this is beautiful, with a nice little zing of wry thrown in, in her thought about the Andes berries. But "She just wanted the blue" -- perfect ending.

Deb, I love yours, and I commented on it in LJ. Yours are making me all squirmy lately, in a good way. Edited to say: Oooh! More porn! Mmmm.

Fun tale of poverty,#117(You are all going to wish you hadn't praised me for honesty, one day, I think.)

The stones in my ring are blue. Sapphires, my birthstone. That and the fact I say “whom” once makes the food stamp lady keep an extra eye on me. Even though my mama said good grammar doesn’t cost anything, around here it must spell m-o-n-e-y.She sees my ring and gives me this “bitch!” look. It’s a reminder of happier days, I want to say, I was a person once, who graduated. And I’ve not taken it off since I was fourteen...the pawnshop would have to take my finger too, an as- is item if ever there was one, especially from my left hand.