Blue

By Rachel Dib

“You are aware there will be side effects.”

I nodded but didn’t meet the study coordinator’s eye. I kept my gaze locked on my hands: the warped fingers, fused thumbs, and lines of surgical scars.

Lupus has side effects, too.

“You understand we cannot tell you exactly what those side effects will be. You could experience anything from…”

I blocked out her voice. I didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter what the alien bacteria might do to me. I only cared whether it could fix me. Not my hands—they were too far gone—but everything else. My aching joints and muscles. The constant fatigue and inability to focus.

The possibility of breaking further. Of falling apart beyond repair.

“Your rheumatologist says you’re a good candidate for Miaosic Symbiotic Therapy, Freya, but I am required to remind you that this treatment is still in the testing phase. We cannot guarantee it will help you.” She tapped her clipboard, finally drawing my gaze. “Are you positive you want to take part in this clinical trial?”

I swallowed but nodded. “Yes.”

The infusion didn’t feel any different than a regular saline bolus: cold but not uncomfortably so. I watched the clear liquid travel down the tubing and wondered how small the alien bacteria were, and how many I was receiving. I pictured them entering my bloodstream and dispersing: little warriors intent on forcing my immune system to stop attacking itself. I willed them to reset my body to the time before lupus.

Eyes closed, I begged, Just make it stop. Please.

Half an hour later, the infusion finished. The coordinator kept me under observation for another two hours to monitor any immediate adverse reactions, then released me.

Disappointment shrouded my thoughts as I exited the facility feeling no different than when I’d entered. The frigid air burned my lungs, making my chest ache. As my friend’s car pulled to the curb, I let out a slow breath.

“Everything go okay?” Laura asked, her gaze hopeful.

“We’ll see.”

The evening crawled by, sleep evading me until around midnight. That’s when I dreamed of Blue.

That wasn’t their name, of course. No comparable moniker existed for the alien collective that appeared in my dream, hovering beside my bed in a humanoid azure haze. Blue was merely a descriptive that the collective found acceptable.

“We’ve found the problem.” Blue floated to the center of the bedspread. “It’s fairly simple to fix.”

“That’s great!” I grinned.

“It could be.”

I didn’t like the aliens’ uncommitted, sonorous tone. “What do you mean?”

“Just because we can fix you doesn’t mean we will. You’ll have to do something for us in exchange.”

“I’m allowing you to live inside me.”

Blue shrugged. “An unambitious host is of no use to us. If you want healing, you must agree to achieve greatness in return. We do not wish to help a host content with normalcy.”

I swallowed. Normalcy was what I wanted—what I’d spent the last twelve years longing for…

Clenching my fists, I let out a slow breath. “What kind of greatness?”

“You’ll know when you see it.”

I woke feeling refreshed. Still, it took me a moment to realize nothing hurt. Nothing. My neck wasn’t stiff. My shoulders weren’t sore. Zaps of pain didn’t shoot through my knees when I bent them.

I quickly slipped my arms from beneath the blankets. Even though I’d expected them to look the same, it was still disappointing to see my twisted fingers.

A small price to pay. And then I remembered my dream. Before I could question its validity, I felt a gentle pressure at the back of my skull.

A shiver ran up my spine. While asleep, Blue’s presence had seemed so natural. Calming even. Now, I wasn’t so sure. Blue demanded greatness. But what kind, exactly?

“Nothing that will hurt you,” Blue’s musical voice replied.

Before I could doubt the promise, a wave of calm whisked away my worry. I climbed out of bed to start my day. Since I was able to shower and dress without exhausting myself, I decided to cook an actual breakfast.

As I ate, I planned my morning: start laundry, read, maybe do some baking—and then Blue popped into my mind. “Go for a walk.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Go for a walk. Just around your neighborhood.”

A walk. That was easy enough. Shrugging, I grabbed my coat.

The morning was chilly but energizing. Usually the cold tightened my joints, but today, I felt as if I could run a marathon.

“Just walk,” Blue instructed.

I gritted my teeth. I haven’t run in so long. Still, I obeyed.

I passed by people going about their daily routines: walking dogs, walking babies, walking to work. All were normal activities, and yet observing them felt different.

“It’s because you’re actually noticing them,” Blue explained. “You’re not solely focused on hobbling down the street. You can absorb what’s around you. Now pay attention.”

As I rounded the corner, I saw a little blonde girl riding a bike down the sidewalk toward me. She was a bit unsteady, but her mother was trailing behind her, shouting encouragements. Remembering similar instances from my childhood, I smiled.

Just before the pair reached the intersection, I moved aside, but a niggling in my spine made me hesitate. The child had gained speed and was outpacing her mother. A whoosh sounded behind me, and my arms flew out at lightning speed toward the approaching girl.

Brakes squealed and steel hit steel with a crunch, but all I could focus on was the wide-eyed child clutched in my arms.

“Very good,” Blue said as the mother rushed to my side and scooped up her daughter.

I glanced at the mangled bike protruding from beneath the SUV and shuddered at what would’ve happened if I’d been content to stay at home.

“Yes,” Blue sympathized. “And under my direction you’ll do far greater things.”

Nodding slowly, I smiled. Greatness.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rachel Dib is a stay-at-home mom of three small children. After marrying a soldier, she left her home state of South Carolina to live in random places across the U.S. In her limited spare time, she enjoys reading, writing, and playing board games. Her other published work can be found in online magazines.

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