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    Thriller

    All the Colors of the Dark

    by

    Chap­ter 146 begins with the qui­et rhythm of nature sur­round­ing Patch and Misty as they hike along a trail, the steady crunch of leaves under­foot punc­tu­at­ing their con­ver­sa­tion. Misty, in a nos­tal­gic mood, brings up her desire to see the musi­cal film Grease once again. She talks about how the songs, the dances, and even the yel­low dress she wore dur­ing the last view­ing are imprint­ed in her mem­o­ry. Patch lis­tens but sub­tly shifts the top­ic towards geo­log­i­cal won­ders, men­tion­ing the curi­ous process of allu­vial and glacial melt­wa­ter and its impact on the sur­round­ing land­scape. Misty, how­ev­er, is not swayed. Her mind remains on Grease, where the lyrics seem to be as much a part of her past as the trails they walk, hint­ing at the deep­er lay­ers of her own per­son­al his­to­ry and long­ing.

    With a smile, Patch attempts to steer the con­ver­sa­tion back to the hike, but Misty shares with him how she remem­bers all the lyrics of Grease as if they were writ­ten in her soul. She admits, almost wist­ful­ly, how spe­cial the movie had been to her when she was younger and how that yel­low dress she wore had always made her feel free. Patch, half-enter­tained and half-dis­tract­ed, allows her to indulge in the nos­tal­gia, but soon the con­ver­sa­tion takes a strange turn. He tells her a dis­joint­ed sto­ry about a man in prison who had once protest­ed poor hygiene stan­dards in the prison—an attempt to light­en the mood but one that leaves Misty frown­ing. The somber­ness of his tale con­trasts sharply with the light-heart­ed mood Misty had been cul­ti­vat­ing, and the atmos­phere feels a lit­tle too heavy.

    As the hike con­tin­ues, the chat­ter slows. Misty, who had been full of life and sto­ries just moments ago, grows qui­eter, and Patch sens­es the change. They pass by a but­ter­fly glade, where the iri­des­cent crea­tures flut­ter about, and a pair of road­run­ners dash across their path. Despite these vibrant sights, Misty’s eyes remain dis­tant, her mind seem­ing­ly else­where. Her shoul­ders, once light with laugh­ter, now seem bur­dened, and Patch notices that her usu­al enthu­si­asm is miss­ing. She does not com­ment on the wild­flow­ers, nor does she seem to notice the beau­ty around them. Even the Eng­lish muffins she’d brought along sit untouched in her bag, a stark con­trast to the live­ly ener­gy she once had.

    Even­tu­al­ly, they reach a small clear­ing where Patch tries again to rekin­dle the ear­li­er mood, ask­ing about her thoughts on the movie. Misty’s response is imme­di­ate, almost too quick, her voice a lit­tle too eager as she agrees with a cheer­ful “Yes, I’d love to go.” Patch is momen­tar­i­ly tak­en aback by her enthu­si­asm. It’s as if she’s forc­ing her­self to find that spark again, to con­vince her­self that this one thing—the movie, the trip, the past—can still bring joy, despite every­thing. It feels almost like an act, but one she’s deter­mined to per­form for both of them, per­haps as a way to hold onto some­thing that still feels pure.

    They return to their car in silence, the world around them seem­ing­ly mut­ed as the sun begins to dip below the hori­zon. Patch glances at Misty, but she’s look­ing out the win­dow, lost in thought. The gen­tle hum of the engine and the soft rustling of the trees fill the air, but between them, an invis­i­ble weight has set­tled. It’s a qui­et under­stand­ing of the things left unsaid—the unspo­ken truths that both of them are still grap­pling with. Misty’s attempt at nor­mal­cy is com­mend­able, but it doesn’t quite erase the under­cur­rent of sad­ness that seems to col­or every­thing they do.

    As they dri­ve off, the feel­ing of some­thing unre­solved lingers in the air. Patch keeps his hands firm­ly on the wheel, but his mind is else­where, won­der­ing what is real­ly hap­pen­ing beneath the sur­face. The ten­sion between them is pal­pa­ble, nei­ther of them will­ing to con­front the emo­tion­al chasm between them. Despite the shared his­to­ry and fleet­ing moments of con­nec­tion, they both under­stand that the real jour­ney lies in the unspo­ken words, the pasts they car­ry, and the future they are both too afraid to face togeth­er.

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