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  • Writer's pictureA.F. McAllister

Creative Piece - The Sky is Blue

Updated: Apr 21

Wonder and excitement filled the eyes of a ten-year-old little girl as she peered out her bedroom window. The world was new and wonderful, brimming with possibilities of adventures and things waiting to be discovered. But the little girl knew nothing of real life, trials, or tribulations. She was fueled by imagination and her free spirit, dwelling on dreams and childhood freedom.


The sky was a brilliant crimson when the little girl climbed out of bed. Her eyes strayed immediately to the colour steaming in through her open window shutters. Images of seafaring pirates on the decks of large sailing ships with cutlasses in hand, fighting between the clouds popped into her mind. A large smile pulled up her lips as she could see them ducking and dodging around the white fluffy clouds.

“Mom,” she yelled, yanking open her door. “Mom, look! The sky is mad. It’s red, so the pirates must be fighting again.” She ran into her mother’s room and jumped on the bed. “Mom! Wake up and look!” Her gaze turned to the window. The pirates were angry that a storm was brewing. They were fighting the sky to scare away the bad weather. “Do you think they’ll win this time? Will the pirates chase it away?”

“Philea,” her mother said with a groan. “I’ve told you a hundred times that there are no pirates in the clouds.”

“But –.”

“No, Philea, go back to bed.”

“The sky is red. You didn’t even look.”

Her mother pulled the blankets tighter. “It’s just the sun reflecting off the small particles in the atmosphere that is causing the sky to change colour. It always does this before a storm, which I’ve already told you.”

“But it’s red and –.”

“Philea, the sky is blue; you learned that in kindergarten. Now, it’s too early to be up so go back to bed.”

The little girl’s shoulders dropped as she slipped off her mother’s bed. Her eyes remained glued to the deep red sky while the pirates continued to battle. She sighed when she looked away. “I hope that you win,” she whispered under her breath as she fiddled with the scratchy tag in her shirt.


Thick, gray clouds filled the sky while the little girl kicked her feet in the air from atop a large wooden chair. She sniffed and looked up at the sky, her expression seeming to lighten a tiny bit when a light rain peppered her face.

“Mom,” she said.


“The sky is sad too,” she said, wiping off the water that tickled her nose. “See, it’s crying for grandma just like you.”

Her mother breathed an irritated sigh. “The sky doesn’t have any feelings. It can’t because it isn’t a person, and I’ve told you this so many times already.”

“But, Mom, it’s dark gray and gloomy. It has to be sad too.”

“Philea, stop it. I can’t deal with this today.”

“But it’s gray–.”

“The sky is still blue. It only looks grey because the rain clouds are keeping you from seeing it. Now, hush.”

Philea bit her lip and looked up at the sky. The pirates were sitting on the decks of their ships, dejected and sad. They must have lost a sailor in the last red stormy sky. Her little heart ached but felt a bit of comfort, knowing that at least the sky felt like she did. She glanced at her mom, fighting to keep quiet. Why didn’t she understand that the sky was sad too?


A low growling rumble woke Philea from sleep. She opened her eyes and clutched the covers closer. The sky was black with an eerie green tint. Her little heart hammered in her chest when the growling got louder and she saw the sailors cowered behind the masts, hiding from the monster who had set eyes on the ships.

“Philea, get up,” her mother cried, dashing into her room. “Hurry!”

“What is –?”

“Get up! We have to get to the storm cellar.”

Philea clung to her mother’s hand while she dragged her out of bed. She only took a couple of steps before she was yanked off her feet.

“Run,” her father said. “It’s almost here.”

Philea grabbed her father’s shirt when he dashed out into the rain. The growling echoed around her, and she shivered when the green tinge continued to darken. The sailors trembled while they rushed into the bowels of their ships, hiding and praying the monster would not find them.

The storm cellar door slammed closed, concealing the dark sky and Philae looked up at her mother. “The monster is coming,” she whispered. “It is green with big black dots.”

“There is no monster,” her mother said.

“But, mom, the sky is green. It’s scared of the monster.”

“It’s a tornado! We’re going to lose the house,” her mother almost shrieked. “Why can’t you understand that this is real life and not some silly story?”

“Mom –.”

“Philea, that’s enough. I don’t want to hear any more of this foolishness,” Philea’s father said with a frown before looking at his wife. “Calm down, everything will be fine.”

Philea looked back and forth between her parents when they started to argue. She slipped off the chair and huddled in the back corner, covering her ears. The sailors flashed in her mind again. “It will be okay,” she whispered. “The monster will go away soon.”


Brilliant rays of the late evening sun streamed through the tiny apartment windows. Philea rested her elbows on the windowsill, fidgeting with another itchy shirt tag as she looked up at the golden hued sunset. She loved the view from her new window but could not wait to go back to her big one. A smile creased her face, mirroring the ones of the sailors. Their crisp white sails were open wide while they sailed through the calm open skies. Pushing away from the window, she rushed from her room.

“Mom –,” she started to call before she heard hushed voices in the kitchen.

“Philea is driving me crazy,” her mother said.

“Oh, she just has a vivid imagination,” her mother’s friend replied.

“It’s not just her imagination. I swear people are going to think she’s crazy, her father did. I’m sure that’s why he left.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. Her constantly talking about the sky having feelings and the sailors,” her mother paused with a disgusted noise. “It’s all foolishness and he couldn’t take it.”

“She is just a little girl.”

“She is almost eleven.”

“Sorah, her mind doesn’t work like everyone else’s. You already know the doctor said that she’d be little bit different.”

“A little?” Her mother snapped before there was a rustling of papers. “Listen to this letter from her teacher at the end of last school year: Philea is a nice girl but has trouble relating to other children. She is not focused in class, does not follow instructions, and needs to learn to keep her rather silly answers to herself for the sake of the others.”

“Sorah –.”

“She’s going into the sixth grade, and she doesn’t have any friends. Everyone already thinks she is disturbed, and they avoid her.”

“She’s a wonderful child and you just have to let her be herself.

“I didn’t sign up for this. I want a normal kid.”

Philea backed away and walked into her room, peering into the large mirror clinging to the wall. Weird? Not normal? The girl staring back at her looked normal to her. A nose, a mouth, two eyes, two hands, and long dark brown hair. So, what was wrong with her? She looked down at the drawing on her tiny plastic table, her family smiling up at her from under a happy golden sky. Her shoulders dropped as her gazed shifted out the window and the sailors she imagined started to fade. She swallowed hard with tears in her eyes before she raised her hand and waved as they vanished. Turning away from the window, she picked up a coloured pencil and sank into a chair.

The tip of powder blue hung in the air. “I’m sorry, sky,” she whispered, pressing the colour to the page. “You’re supposed to be blue.”

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