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Blue is a clown, a natural, she's wonderful at it and loves making her friends laugh. Clowning runs in her family. She's worn clown noses and silly hats and all sorts of things. Sillytown is a beloved skidoo. She's loved the carnival. Blue loves to be a clown.
Not like this.
Heartbeat, heartsink.
Heart broke, don't think.
Don't love, don't trust.
The memory of you turns to rust.
In a rusty metal cage she dare not paw at the bars of. On a bit of straw to sleep on. wearing diamond pants and a sparkly ruffle collar even itchier than the Fidos' red one. In dewy fur forcibly dyed gold. Under a big warm spotlight in a cold room. Unfed.
Used to be just us.
Used to be honest.
Used to be, used to be.
They said it was a "little bath," but obviously they didn't know what baths looked like. All she remembers is unkind hands, a couple flooding splashes, and getting soaked to the skin. So much heavier, her ears weighed her down. She'd made some protesting sounds, but couldn't really move. They couldn't care less about her. Annoyed, even. She was left to dry herself off, but couldn't get the gold out. It was quick and unceremonious for them.
She'd never been more scared in her life.
Everyone uses me. (ah-ah)
So, yes, Blue is a clown, and she'll sing from her oversized cage, but not because she wants to. The only strength is home. Her family is her home. Until she gets back to them, she's blue in a sad way.
The first night, she falls asleep easily. She's home, she's tired, she's safe, it's been a while, all is well. There's hardly time to process reality anymore. Routine is speedran because she just needs to sleep. The gold washes off. Quick goodnight song. Polka Dots back in her arms. Dreamless.
Under your dewy skin, (ah-ah)
How did you get so thin? (ah-ah)
The second night, routine is back in full swing, with lullaby singing and everything. Normal, safe, easy. Only it's not dreamless. Yelling, rust, bath. Bars blurring into stripes blurring into dewy gold fur into dewy blue fur into why won't it come off? Why won't they let go? Why did her friends leave her alone? Where is everyone? Her neck itches, her belly flops, her body is heavy. She doesn't understand, she doesn't understand, she doesn't-!
Planted flowers in my head, (ah-ah)
Now they're rotten wilted.
Tearing off the blanket, discarding the pjs, bounding through the house, out the doggy door, running and running until she reaches the peak of a green hill and takes in all the sparkling stars and flooding moonlight. Sitting, staring, breathing. Are these the same stars looking down on everyone before? She listens. There's a stream somewhere. Owls hoot, grasshoppers chirp, lightning bugs flutter far away. The world is alive and so is she. Air to breathe, free open space to feel, to process anything in her infinitesimal completion.
Dogs can't cry.
Maybe that's a good thing. Clowns don't cry either. Instead she...howls? Wails? Whines? Something escapes her and melds with all the nature sounds around her, if overpowering them a little bit. A lot? Perhaps the moon can hear. If so, it doesn't seem to mind. She needs no one's permission to do this, let alone her own, apparently. She crumples into a quiet heap at some point.
Relief is so exhausting.
Only she's powerless again, wide awake and far from home, alone by her own doing. Her world is safe. She could sleep on a floating lily pad if she wanted to. Nothing is wrong. So why does it still hurt? Even interdimensional puppies can have scary adventures and take time to recover. Losing her first tooth was easy. This feels like missing something she wasn't prepared to lose.
No big noisy city can surmount terrible humans. You can grow to expect the noise, but people can always surprise you. She learned the hard way they could even come like that—selfish, greedy, mean. What's worse is that it's a choice to be that way, and the results were out of her control. Hardly anything feels in her control anymore.
The cool air is biting but sobering. The grass isn't as nice as a picnic blanket but far better than straw. All of nature is her song. Every page of Storybook World is her rhythm. It's refreshing, she's okay, it's-
It's raining.
I would still walk
Barefoot on the glass, oh.
Water slowly pelts her coat. She finds the strength to get up and walk briskly back toward her home. Briskly. Calmly. No getting hurt, no getting sick, just an easy jog back. BRISKLY-
I would still bleed out
Just for you, oh-oh.
Running, breath shortening, how far did she go in the first place? The path stretches on forever, the sky darkens, the water gets heavier, heavier, heavy. Is she just imagining it? What's real or dangerous anymore? Distant windchimes add to the soundscape like a comforting lighthouse calling her home. Almost there. She's positive downhill wasn't meant to be this slow. Jack and- wait.
I would still love you
Ten thousand years from now.
She makes it to the bottom of the hill in the worst way possible: splash landing in a puddle bigger than her. The rain lets up, but it's no use. Her eyes are water blurred. She thrashes her short legs, fighting for some direction, her splashes drowning out that lighthouse, and there's yelling now, maybe her or someone else but someone's saying something until strong hands are lifting her up and oh no no NO-
Inferno, inferno, oh-oh.
She kicks free (!!) and sends both parties smack on the grass, apart, facing each other. She shakes water off her head, vision clearing. A big umbrella lies nearby. Across from her is, well, the only person who could've logically been here. He looks like he's seen a ghost, and not just Boo.
If only you saw me then,
Holdin' out both my hands.
"It's okay, Blue. It's me, Josh, see?"
She does. She cowers now. Did she hurt him?
"No, no, I'm okay. You did nothing wrong. I'm sorry for trying to pick you up before you could answer. I was just worried. Are you all right?"
Blue's eyes communicate whatever she feels.
"Right. Well...that's normal. You've been through a lot more than most puppies have to deal with."
Really?
Over fire, over flames.
"And I don't know the half of it, and that's..." he signs. "scary. But you don't have to be all better right away. There's things we can do."
She listens patiently, albeit shivering.
"Do you- Maybe we should go inside first."
Blue realizes they're just across from the walkway. She opts for the screened-in porch and sits by her pawmade windchimes. The breeze still reaches here, but with the only degree of separation Blue wants to relent.
Her friend stores the umbrella and continues. "Do you know what therapy is?"
Blue searches her memory. Pearl from school has that. She raises her eyebrows to verify.
"There's the physical kind, and an emotional kind. Both keep people healthy. Steve's told me a lot about it. A therapist could help you get better."
Meaning she's too much for him. Maybe she is sick.
"You know how I get stage fright sometimes? Or overwhelmed, or nervous in general?"
Blue softly acknowledges.
"Yeah, Steve thinks therapy might help me, too."
Blue brightens a bit. Healing sounds cool, actually.
"How about we talk to Miss Marigold on your next school day? You don't have to explain why. I'm sure she'll help us find someone for you to talk to."
Blue spots his knuckled hands. He mindfully relaxes them.
"...And I'll talk to Steve about someone for me. okay?"
Blue nods with full endorsement.
"Okay. Do you wanna sleep here tonight?"
She nods again. Please. It's the perfect liminality.
Just to keep you safe.
So, dry and warm and tucked in on an old couch, Blue rests between the limitless outdoors and familiar domesticity. Her windchimes guide her to sleep. Rain softly falls on and off. Somehow, some way, despite everything, it's still her.
The world is alive and so is she.