A red blur flashed around her, a grin barely visible beneath the sparkle of the jewels. Another blur, green this time, and some purple. She ran through the crowd, head whipping around rapidly, looking for one specific blur. His blur.

Faces leered at her from behind vibrant masks. The bright lights did nothing to ease her despair of losing him. Not again, not again. She moved swiftly, pushing into the throng of dancers in their fancy gowns and suits.  Yellow. In the corner of her eye, she caught the color.

She was running now, tripping over her hem and not caring enough to stop. The crowd held her up, kept her from falling as she ran against the flow.

Yellow, yellow, yellow.

 The yellow danced a mere few steps from her, so close, so close. She reached an arm out to clasp the hazy shoulder when the red cut in the middle, turning and twisting, coming right between them. She stepped back, instinctively, before once again catching sight of the yellow, this time with a blue companion, mixing together to form a green in her vision, much like the newest blur that slammed into her side, leaving her breathless on the floor.

 She crawled into a corner and cried, her white dress turning slightly sooty from the dirt on the floor, and wet with tears. Everything was turning almost completely gray when the yellow came back, all traces of the blue left floundering in the sea of color the two had escaped. He scooped up the girl, and apologized for not coming sooner.

 I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Yellow, yellow, yellow. Happy, happy, happy.

Anjali Agarwalla is a student in New York. Growing up in one of the cultural hubs of America has made her enjoy not only writing and reading, but also art, dancing and music. She is a trained Kathak dancer.