This Island that Smells Blue

[lost_poppy_seed]

Title: This Island that Smells Blue
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A fourteen year old synesthetic girl struggles to survive on an island where everybody has a secret.
Warnings: Language... confusion...
Comment: Although this bears a few resemblences to *LOST* I haven't used any of the characters, just a few ideas.


"Carmen!" My brother reaches for my hand as he screams my name. "Carmen don't let go of me!"
I sob uncontrollably. 'The plane is going to crash,' I think. 'I'm going to die. We're all going to die.'
Next to me, a baby cries. His wails are a blue. A deep blue, a blue that makes you sad. A blue that makes you want to wail yourself. I squeeze Liam's hand tightly. I bite my lip and can taste my blood. My blood tastes like a dark purple, dark purple triangles, actually. Then before I know it, everything is gone. Nothing but raspberry-flavored darkness.

My head is pounding as I return to consciousness. Everything is blurry and I feel dizzy. But I try and I stand, pushing off the sand to get up. I see our plane about twenty feet away, and there are a ton of people around me. I don't see Liam anywhere.
How did I get so far from the plane? Orange flames lick up beside me, and there is my luggage, caught on fire. But I just stare at it. Nothing happens. I just stare. Suddenly a man runs over to me. Grabbing my bag, he runs over to the shore.
"What the hell are you doing?" I shout after him.
I watch as he tosses my bag into the water and drags it out again. The flames are gone. The bag is scorched slightly, but the fire is out.
"Here," he says, setting it next to me. "Now you can stop staring and help the rest of us."
I look around, and I see a ton of injured people. Blood is everywhere. Instead I walk to the water and put my feet in. The water is warm and I can taste the salt in the air. 'Odd,' I think, 'that the salt tastes blue. The salt back home tastes red. The whole island smells and tastes blue.'

[lost_poppy_seed]

What do you guys think? Is it confusing enough? Run a GOOGLE on synesthesia. It's fascinating.

[lost_poppy_seed]

"Hey!"
I turn and see the man from before staring at me. I stare back at him, my expression unwavering. His expression, however, changes from his brave pose to that of a young boy who had just been scolded. He looks down.
Turning sideways from him, I look down the beach at the ruin of the plane.
"Oh my God!" he exclaims. I spin back to him and his horrified face. I stand confused. "I'm gonna find you a doctor!" He sprints off toward a large group of people.
I immediately search my body for some kind of injury that would concern him at all. I find a large gash accompanied by a great pruple bruise on my shoulder. I sit down and look at it, and I realize it barely will move. Large drops of blood drip onto my shoulder. I bring my fingers to my temple and feel a large bruise and wound there as well. It must be what is concerning that man.
The man returns, with another following behind very quickly.
"Found you a doctor!" he shouts ahead to me. The doctor walks over and examines my wounds. "My name is John," he said. He touched the area around my temple. "Does that hurt?" My wince was answer enough. "Okay, can you feel this?" He presses the area around the gash and bruise on my shoulder. I jump back in pain. My arm is throbbing and blood is pouring from the cut.
The other man walks slowly closer to us and sits next to me. "The name's Buddy. What's yours?"
Buddy. That's odd. His name tastes like syrup, maple syrup, but his voice, his voice is more of a caramel flavor. "Carmen," I say. The doctor bandages my head and arm and then leaves, with a strict warning as to the care of them. As soon as he is gone, I turn on Buddy.
"Is your name really Buddy?" I ask. His shocked face proves my theory. "It's not, is it? I knew it!"
"Well, it's actually Peter, but-"
"Exactly!" I say loudly. Peter. Caramel. Thick, warm, gooey caramel. I whisper, "Yes, that tastes right."
"What?" asks Buddy. "My name tastes right?"
Damn. He has heard me. "Nothing," I say. I change the subject. "So how old are you, Peter?" I can't call him Buddy, it doesn't taste right.
"Um, seventeen," he says, taken aback at my calling him by his real name.
I am in shock. Seventeen? Here I am thinking he's in his twenties, and now I find out I'm not the only minor. Seventeen. One, red, a brick red with the same texture. Seven, a bright yellow, yellow as a lemon. "Lemon like Liam," I mutter. Then it hits me. "Liam!" I cry. I stand and run off in search of my brother.
I can hear Peter running behind me. Catching up, he grabs my unharmed shoulder. "Who are we looking for?"
"I am looking for my brother," I say, not focusing but instead scanning the beach for Liam. "I don't know who you're looking for."
"I'll help," he says.
I sigh. "Fine. He's twenty-two, with curly auburn hair like mine, he has freckles, and he's pretty tall. About six foot three." Without waiting for a reply I run off again.

I collapse into the sand and sob. "Liam," I wail. Peter, gasping for breath, catches up and sits next to me.
"Don't worry, Carmen, we'll find him," he says soothingly.
"That's what I'm worried about, Peter!" I yell. "I'm worried that we WILL find him, and that he'll be dead!" I sob loudly and Peter places my head on his shoulder. I immediately pull back. I sit facing the water, away from him.
There is a long pause before he says, "So how old are you, Carmen?"
"Fourteen," I say without looking at him.
"Funny," he says.
I turn back. "What is?"
"I thought you were older. Sixteen, maybe, fifteen min."
I turn back to the water again. "Well I'll be fifteen in a few months, but until then you were wrong."
Out of the corner of my eye I see him put up both hands in a sign of retreat. We sit in a silence for a few minutes. Then he scoots over so I have to face him. "Any other relatives on the plane?" he asks.
"No."
"Parents?"
"Dead," I say, offended at his constant invasion of my privacy. "I lived, live, with Laim now."

[Lost4ever]

aruppe@animail.net That was very good! It was like a sequel to Lost except with different characters. I love how the story is written out. Do you write fanfiction? You should write it more often!

[lost_poppy_seed]

'Liam,' I think. 'Liam, whose name tastes like lemons. Liam, whose hair smells so yellow. Liam.' I mumble, "Liam," and look at Peter. His face shows sympathy. "Don't," I say.
"Don't what?"
"Don't look at me like that!"
"How am I looking?" he asks, cocking his head sideways.
"All sympathetic!" I shout. I calm my voice. "I don't need your pity. Liam and I were so happy in his little apartment. He was going to start college this fall. That's why we came to Australia. It was a vacation thing with some of our inheritance money, a last hurrah before school started. We knew he would be to busy, so we took some bonding time."
"Wow," says Peter, "I can't believe you and your brother are so close."
"Yeah, he's my best friend. Hell, he moved us to New York just for me."
"For you?"
"Yeah." I look out on the water. It looks so much like Destin. "We grew up in Destin, Florida," I began. "Our parents weren't home a lot. They both worked. So, despite the eight year age gap between Liam and I, we spent most of our time together and became each other's best friend. Sure, Liam would have girlfriends, but I was his sister, and for him, I came first. It was him who pushed me into working at my acting and singing. I had always enjoyed it but was too shy to do anything. He would sign me up for auditions and not tell me until the day of, giving me no time to prepare. Somehow, by the Grace of God, I still got parts in community plays. So he was my best friend, my hero. And he saved me one last time when our parents died. I remember that day vividly. So red. I was elev-"
"Red?"
'Damn,' I think. 'I did it again.'
"Listen Carmen why did you say the day was red? Why didn't my name taste right? What in the hell is wrong with you?"
I choose to ignore it and continue. "I was eleven, Liam was nineteen. I was going to be se-"
"Carmen!" Peter shouts. I stop. "Days being red? My name doesn't TASTE right to you? And I heard you before, you said, "Lemon like Liam." What are you talking about?"
I sigh. I'm so bad at hiding my "condition." Try as I can to keep it a secret, people always find out. I mutter phrases and react differently to sounds and tastes than others. Oh well. Might as well tell him. "I'm synesthetic."
"Syne- what?" He asks. Great. He thinks I'm crazy.
"Synesthetic. I have synesthesia."
"Okay so help me out here," he says, looking around. "What does it mean?"
"It means 'mixture of the senses.' It's not a disease, not a malady. They're not sure exactly what causes it, but it's guessed that some nerves of mine in the sensory part of my brain are crossed."
There it is. The look on Peter's face. Classic. If I could take a picture of the face of every person I've ever told, they would all be the same. A combination of confusion and, well, almost horror.
"It's actually quite interesting, not in the least handicapping. Basically I confuse my senses. That's it. I smell colors, taste colors, hear colors. I smell sounds, taste sounds, and if music is playing, I can actually "see" the music. Not like the notes, the actual music. One of the reasons I love to sing is that I can see what I am singing and know if it sounds good. Everything. Numbers and letters to me have colors, distinct colors that will never change. Ask me now what one is like, and I will tell you that it is red, like a brick, and it's even rough like a brick. Ask me ten, twenty years from now and you'll get the same answer. One equals brick. That's what my head tells me."
Peter stares ahead at me, his face blank, yet so... understanding. "Okay," he says. "So my name?"
"Caramel."

[lost_poppy_seed]

"Caramel?" he asks. "Are you sure it's not anything more... masculine?"
I laugh. "Sorry, Peter, your name and your voice are both caramel flavored."
"So that's how you knew my name wasn't really Buddy?"
"Yeah," I reply. "Buddy tastes more like a thick rich syrup. Your name didn't match your voice, that's all. I knew immediately it had to be some kind of nickname." There is a pause. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Is it a nickname?" I ask.
"Sort of..." he says. This time it's his turn to look away.
"What do you mean, sort of?"
"Never mind. That's exactly what it is. A nickname."
I decide not to pry. Maybe I'll rub off and he won't ask me so much. However, I can't help but be curious.
"I would still rather you called me Buddy." He turns back to me as he says this.
"What? Why?"
"Please? Just call me Buddy."
"Why? It doesn't taste right to me. It's so weird."
"Listen," he says, his voice rising, "I don't want people to know that my name is Peter, okay? Please? Just do as I ask, okay?"
"Fine, fine," I say, sighing. In my head I will still call him Peter. I can't think of him as a 'Buddy.' But to humor him, I decide to just call him Buddy.

My suitcase sits in front of me, open. Everything is a little wet but surprisingly unscathed. If only I had made it out so well. The sun is going down, but I want to find it. I take out all of my clothes and put them in piles according to the way the sound to me. Loud clothes over here, clothes that sound like tinkling bells over there, and so on. My makeup in another pile. Finally, at the bottom of the suitcase, I find my bag of souvenirs. A keychain, a travel mug, a book, T-shirt, and finally, a picture. A picture of me and Liam, taken our last day in Australia. Liam is so much taller than me. Other than that, though, we look so similar that it's frightening. Curly auburn hair, freckles, our eyes. Our eyes are the same shape, except mine are so dark. I never noticed how dark my eyes are. But they are. Dark, dark brown with little flecks of green. Liam's, however, are blue. Light, bright blue. Blue like the smell of friendship, protection. Liam has always been my protector. Tears well in my eyes at the thought of possibly never seeing him again.
I ball up some of the bell-sounding clothes for a pillow. Tucking the picture underneath, I lay down my head and fall asleep.

[lost_poppy_seed]

I rise before the sun. The air has chilled slightly. The sand beneath my feet is cool as well, and I shiver. In my pile of loud clothes is a sweatshirt, so I dig it out and put it on. Now warm, I wade into the water, thinking. Thinking about Liam and what has happened to him. My eyes swell with tears, but I don't let them out. I must focus and stay calm.
I whip my head around at the sound of padding footsteps in the sand.
"Hello, Carmen," says John. His face is youthful. I doubt that he is really a doctor. Probably in med school, but that's okay. He's not lying or anything.
"Hi, John," I reply.
"How's the head feeling?"
"Better, I guess. My arm is killing me though." I sigh. My bandage is stretched awfully tight, so I know that it is swelling. He walks over to me.
"I'm going to check it out if that's okay with you," he says. I nod, and he begins to unwrap my arm. I gasp when I see that the bruise has turned into a deep blueish black color. Green color is visible as well around the bruise. The gash has turned awful colors as well. My stomach churns. "Ugh," I barely get out, "it's disgusting."
"It's infected," John says. "I'm going to find you some antibiotics."

[lost_poppy_seed]

By the time John returns, the sun has nearly risen.The orange warmth of the sun has heated my body, so I unroll the sleeves of my sweatshirt and take it off.
"Here," he says, handing me some pills. "Pennicillan." I look at the pills in my hand. Reluctantly, I cup some sea water in my hands and drink it to swallow the medicine.
"Ick," I say, my face contorting into that of disgust. "Wow."
John laughes. "Maybe we should find some fresh water, huh?"
I swallow a few times, trying to rid myself of the sickening feeling growing in my stomach. "Fresh water? Where?"
"I don't know," he says, looking around. "Maybe there's some kind of pond or something in the woods, you know?"
"Uh, I guess so," I say. Suddenly my head feels heavy. My vision is blurred. I work my hardest to regain my balance.
"Carmen, you okay?" John asks, stepping closer.
I nod, gulping. My throat is dry, and my tongue feels thick. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." I shake my head, swallowing again. "I think it's all the salt water or something. Don't worry about me at all."
He doesn't look satisfied. "Are you sure?"
I tilt sideways, dizzy.
"Carmen?"
The ground is coming up towards me.
"Carmen!"
Then I taste it. Raspberry.

[lost_poppy_seed]

"Carmen?"
I moan.
"Carmen?"
I groan.
"Carmen?"
I blink. I open my eyes, but I can't see. It is night. The night tastes like raspberry. Dark.
"Carmen, can you hear me?"
I am lying on my back. I look up and see John, Peter, and a few others hovering over me.
Peter touches my shoulder. "Carmen, it's me, Buddy."
"Buddy," I mumble. "Syrup."
"She's hallucinating," John says. "It's serious." He pulls something out of his medical bag. I cannot see what it is, but whatever it is, it bothers Peter.
"No she's not," he says, standing. "Carmen's not hallucinating."
"Carmen," I mumble again. "Chocolate... brown... squ... squares."
"Buddy, do you not hear what she's saying?" John asks. "She's very ill. It needs to be amputated! Can't you see that she is delirious?" I now see that he is holding a large knife.
"No she's not, she's synesthetic!" he cries. "She's fine, leave her alone!" He throws his body over me, protecting me. I stare up at John, my eyes wild. I try to explain, but words are difficult.
"John... red... blood red..."
"Buddy!" John yells, waving the knife frantically. "Move aside!"
"No!" Peter shouts. He holds my body tight to him. "Don't you touch her with that thing!"
I look down at my arm. The bruise is nearly healed, but the cut is still prominent. Infected. It looks as though John has been treating it. The Pennicillan has had a large effect on it. I understand now that the infection caused me to go unconscious. Now it is clear. They want to cut off my arm, and Peter is protecting me. "Th-thank you P-p- Buddy," I say, correcting myself.
I see John's face growing red, even in this raspberry darkness. "Buddy, she's delirious! The arm must be amputated!"
"No!" Peter shouts. "No! No! No! She's not delirious, she't not! She's synesthetic, I tell you!"
"She's what?" John asks, lowering his arm.
"Synesthetic!" he yells. He pulls me tighter. I hold on to him with all my might, squeezing him as hard as I can. My protector. "She's like this all the time!"
"What do you mean?"
"Nerves in her brain are crossed... or... something..." He looks down at me. I smile at him. "Either way, her senses are all mixed up. She tastes sounds and colors, and sounds have their own colors, all that. My name tastes like syrup!" he says, pointing to his chest. "Yours," he says, pointing at John, "is the color red, a blood red. And Carmen apparently is chocolate flavored. Brown squares. Her name looks like brown squares and tastes like chocolate. Don't you get it? This is normal!"
John steps backward, away from us. The others standing around, looking fascinated. John, however, looks shocked. "Of course," he mumbles. "Why didn't I see that?"
"I don't know, John, why didn't you see that?" Peter stands up, setting me gently on the sand. "Do you know what you just did? If I hadn't been here, you would have just amputated Carmen's arm for no reason!"
John's face changes from shock to horror. "Oh my God," he whispers. "Oh my God." He continues to walk backward, then turns and runs off. Peter immediately turns back and sits down beside me.
"Carmen, are you okay?" he asks, his face full of concern.
"Buddy?" I ask, grabbing his hand. I begin to sob. "Oh my God, Buddy!"
"It's okay, Carmen, it's okay," he says. He rubs my hand and hugs me close. "Everything is going to be just fine. Now you see that you can't hide this, right? People need to know!"
I nod and sniff. I look up at Peter and see that his eyes are glittering with tears. He is smiling.
"Carmen, I'm so glad you're okay," he cries.

[HobbitLuvr]

Another "Oh. My. God." worthy story over here.

Keep it coming if you have more to offer. The writing is beautiful. Amazing.