The Color of Darkness COMPLETE NOVEL

Muse

"DAMMIT NOVA!" I jumped up, letting the notebook and also a little Ziploc bag containing what was obviously marijuana flop to the ground. "Why the hell did you bring that into my house? My dad will kill me!"

"Relax Puck!" She said, snatching it up off the floor. Rick--who was about six drinks in--started laughing hysterically.

"You still have that?" he said in disbelief. "I swiped that off Mike at the beginning of the summer! I thought you had smoked it all!"

It was Nova's turn to laugh now. "I may have a death wish, Ricky, but I'm not stupid enough to smoke pot!" She pocketed it deftly and sighed. "You just never know when you're going to need some drugs handy, you know? I thought maybe it would help our friend here."

"Smoking pot doesn't make you stupid," Rick retorted. "Mike smoked a ton of pot, and he managed to get into college."

"You're using your brother as an example?" Nova scoffed. "Case and point. Sorry, Rick." Rick grinned and shrugged in agreement and started his next drink. That's what I loved about Rick: he could get really high-strung sometimes, but underneath, nothing ever really bothered him.

"Hell. No!" I said, throwing my hands out in front of me. Rick tossed me a wine cooler and told me to calm the hell down, which I did. Nova's impulsiveness could be a huge inconvenience sometimes; there was no doubt about it.

"What am I supposed to write about?" I asked after picking up the notebook and draining a third of the cooler.

"Write about the time you could make up your mind about something," Rick mused. "Oh, wait, we want a prompt that will last more than about one line, right?"

I threw a pen at him for being an ass.

"Write about the weather," Nova suggested. I had imbibed enough alcoholic beverages to actually give it a shot. I scribbled something down and handed it to Nova, who read it aloud:

"It's cold outside."

Rick snorted and Nova sighed, handing the notebook back to me. "You two acting like five year olds is doing nothing to help Puck's issue!"

"Puck has an issue?" Rick sipped on his honey-and-Jack Daniel's concoction, looking suddenly very interested. I looked over at Nova, pleading her with my eyes to not spill any secrets.

"No," she said, giving me her signature "killer smile" for the millionth time in my life. "But he will if he doesn't pump out some creative magic here in the next five minutes!"

I groaned and turned back to the notebook. I glanced out the window. Then back at the notebook. It had been so long since I had done something like this... wow, over five years. A half of a decade avoiding the one thing I actually felt I excelled at. I thought of the murder weapon I kept hidden in a box at the back of my closet, the old Smith-Corona.

No, I realized. I'm the murder weapon.

"You can do it, Puck," Nova said softly, as if she could read my thoughts. she smiled at me, the smile she saved only for me in our most private moments. I swallowed the lump in my throat, picked up my pen, and began pouring out ink onto the paper.

It was strange, at first, like swimming in Jell-O. My hand felt clumsy, and not just because of my questionable life choices. It was like I was learning to ride a bike again.

A bike that I had convinced myself was responsible for the death of my mother.

Not the bike. Not the Pen. Not the Smith-Corona. I reminded myself. Me. I put down my pen and pushed the notebook onto Nova's lap with a shaking hand. She patted my knee and began to read with that wonderful, honeysuckle voice: