• xxxxxThe air was green. It was early summer and the air was green. The summer was green. The air was green. The ceiling above my green head and the floor below my green feet and the walls that connected them were all green. The wall I stared at was green. The purple blankets on her bed were green. The red rug on the floor that she had bought for my birthday was green. All the clothes, all the toys, all the rainbows of makeup and nail polish and book covers and paints were green. Because she hated green. Because I hated green. Everything was green. And it wasn't fair. Her paints that she loved were green. Her hair ties she wore on her wrists in place of bracelets were green. And it wasn't fair. I sat in the green room on the green floor breathing in the green air and holding my green phone to my green ear and listening to her green voice as it told me greenly “I’m sorry I can't get to the phone right now, please leave a message after the tone” and cried green tears.
    xxxxx“ You're not sorry!” I screamed. My green phone appeared in front of the green wall and crashed into it, sending shards of green plastic and metal and glass spinning across the green room. I sobbed and began choking on my green tears and the green air and the heavy green that surrounded us.
    xxxxxThe air is still green. The days that slip by without her are green. The eyes that stare at me asking if I am green are green. The voices that try to break through to my green brain are green. But her blankets are purple. Her blankets are purple and her voice is not green. It is not.
    xxxxxThe coffin is green. She is green. Her dress is green. Her makeup the green funeral director had put on her is green. The world is still green. I am still green. Why is she green? She hates green. I hate green. Why has everything turned green now that she is gone? Why? How dare the world turn green now that my sister is gone?