Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
The fire was going, but it wasn’t that. He was angry. Whenever he got this way, his entire body would feel as if set ablaze, as if he were some hulking monster, only he didn’t turn green and burst out of his clothing. Azure was curled up on his couch, watching some drama on Hulu. She appeared peaceful enough. He resumed going through Aunt Angel’s box. She’d left some trinkets, too, but they didn’t offer any clues. A key, for instance, to an unknown door perhaps? One of his mama’s old report cards from high school—straight A’s.
Why had his aunt put all this in the box? Nothing was particularly valuable or telling, but perhaps she knew he’d enjoy surfing through it, getting to know his mother. He discovered she’d been on the debate team. He grabbed the purple crayon Aunt Angel had saved for him from that fateful day he’d found his mother’s body hanging in her bedroom and rolled it around on his palm. The purple color looked more gray than purple now, and its black and purple wrapping paper was scratched and faded, the word ‘CRAYOLA’ barely visible.
Memories flooded back of him sitting beneath his mother, coloring… coloring… coloring… Staying within the lines. Must be perfect. Just right—while her cold, rigid body hung above him, floating like an angel with no wings. He could hear his own breathing, and hear the way the crayon sounded as it dragged along the cheap paper. A flush of heat consumed him and he set the crayon to the side, staring at it as if it were somehow responsible for Mama’s death too. He hated and loved that crayon at the same time. It helped him hold on, yet was a constant reminder of what he had to let go of. A constant reminder of what had transpired. Of the time when Mama looked purple, gray and blue.
“Shit!” He jumped, then laughed. He hadn’t noticed Azure had gotten off the couch and sat beside him. Slithered over like some seductive snake. Sneaky. There they were, on the floor, her locs brushing against his arm. There they were…where it was cold and lonesome, like a grave. What he was used to.
But now, there were two.
“You didn’t tell me how your podcast went today.” She hooked his hair behind his ear and leaned in for a kiss. He obliged, happily falling into the embrace. She smelled like the sunrise and tasted like the sunset.
“Oh, it was fine.” He yawned. “It’s still uploadin’, actually. I had a forensic scientist out of D.C. as a guest. Dr. Kegler. He explained how evidence from crime scenes is examined in the laboratories. The step-by-step process. He made it sound exciting, so that should be good for views. We discussed a couple cracked cases that were solved through this type of analysis.”
“Sounds interesting. I’ll have to listen to it tomorrow.” She picked up the crayon that sat between them.
“You got some scrap paper?” she asked, reaching for the box.
“No.” He snatched the crayon out of her hand.
Her eyes grew large, then tapered.
“What’s wrong with you? I was just going to draw with it.”
“I don’t want you to draw with it, Azure.” His heart nearly beat out of his damn chest. Sure, he knew how crazy he looked and sounded, but this could not happen under any circumstances. He felt a surge of anger towards her, but then, as he studied her confused expression, he deflated with punishing remorse—an emotion he rarely felt. He dropped his gaze, his shoulders slumping. “Sorry for yelling, baby.” He closed his eyes and dragged his hand over his face. Deep breath. “It’s just… this crayon means a lot to me, and I don’t want it used by anyone.”
That sounds so fucking stupid. She won’t understand.
She was silent for a long while, rubbing thoughtfully on her arm, then massaging her shoulder. She seemed more confused than irritated. He could understand such a reaction. After all, he’d yelled at her about a fucking crayon, of all things.
“Why’s it so important? It’s a crayon.” Her face twisted as if to say, ‘You idiot.’ “They make millions of them every year. Maybe even billions. Why’s this one special?”
“It was mine as a child. My mama gave it to me.” She nodded in understanding. “One time, she bought five boxes of crayons so I could have all the shades of purple in them and not run out for a long while. It was my favorite color as a kid. I liked colorin’ books. I colored the people purple. The trees. The houses. I still do like coloring books actually.”
“Why the color purple? And I don’t mean the movie.” Her smile made him feel good inside, and he began to cool down as he looked into her eyes.
He shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I think it was because I loved grape jelly.” They had a good chuckle at that.