Blue. That can't be right. This pathetic mood ring. "It's magical and tells the future," she said. What a rip off! I trudged down the long stretch of lifeless grey concrete, clearing thoughts of fake "magical" jewellery out of my stressed head, until I reached the familiar lime green garage door. I lifted it roughly and slipped inside, escaping from the bitter hands of the harsh wind.

The sweet aroma of baked blueberries drifted around my nose. Yet, it suddenly occurred to me that Mum never made blueberry treats. My older brother was allergic. "Mum, what's up?" I questioned with a perplexed look.

"I'm making blueberry pie!" she responded eagerly, like a child with a brand new toy."
"But, what about Wayne?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you…"

"Tell me what?!" I demanded in a more serious tone.

"Don't worry", Mum assured, "He's just gone to Europe for a few months on a holiday."

"That's sudden!" I thought to myself, as I climbed up the stone-cold marble staircase to my small, snug bedroom. I dropped the ring on my dresser and started on my English homework.

You see, my brother and I were inseparable so it was natural for me to be troubled by his abrupt departure. I was ecstatic for him (he had always wanted to visit Europe) but as glad as I was, I still felt abandoned, desolated. Alone. Lonely days passed, lonely nights came. Months passed. No Wayne at breakfast, no Wayne at school, no Wayne on the couch watching TV at night. More and more, I missed him. More and more, I became empty, like half of me had been suddenly ripped out.

I felt sick. Mum had gone out. Awkwardly, I staggered down the stairs to take a Panadol and retreated to my room for a nap. A long, lengthy nap…

Sharp, high-pitched sounds cut through my peaceful slumber. Fatigued, I grabbed for the phone, and attempted to open my weary eyes. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this the Graham residence?" enquired an unfamiliar but friendly voice.

"It is. Who's speaking please?"

"This is Roxy from Westmead Hospital and-"

I interrupted and broke into instant panic.

"Oh no! Who's hurt? Is it Mum? Is-"

"No, it's your father. He's been in a car accident and we need you to come down here. He'll be fine."

She hung up.

Before leaving, I decided to try the ring on again, if it really did tell the future, maybe it could give me an insight into what was happening to my dad. No change. The once relaxing, soft blue colour was now a disgusting, sickening shade. I cried out in frustration and threw it onto my cluttered desk before leaping down the staircase and heading towards the garage.

Trembling, and still in a faded tank top and torn trousers, I stumbled into the dusty family Kombi, pushed in the bronzed key and turned it. The engine set off with a lurch then smoothed into a silent hum. I drew a deep breath and accelerated out onto the flat lamp-lit street. Sick with worry, I found it extremely difficult to concentrate on driving. I had only passed my driving test a few months ago so I had little self confidence. Adding to the stress was the fact that Dad had been in a car crash! What if he was seriously hurt, on the verge of death! Why did Roxy need me there now? What if it was a serious emergency? What if I was too late? What if- I stopped myself mid-sentence. Think positive, I told myself over and over. But I still found myself in sheer panic. My fingers shook. My face was cold and colourless. My breathing was short and sharp. It felt like every bone in my body was shaking.

The icy touch of the door handle stung my tender palm as I released it cautiously, praying for the best. A young blonde nurse in a bleached white apron stood beside my vulnerable father. "H-Hi, I'm his daughter," I started.

"Oh, thanks for coming quickly. Your father's in a coma, after another car collided with his, we need you to fill out some forms," answered a soft voice.

Scott Graham. 46. 13 Rose Street, Sydney. I scrawled the details onto the complicated form as neatly as my shaking hand would let me.

I scanned the accident report. 5:32pm. Collision with blue Toyota Sedan. Blue…that's peculiar. Mum arrived a few minutes later. She sat by his bed. Crying. She has not returned home since, staying by Dad's side like a loyal Labrador. That night, I tried the mood ring again. Still no change.

The next day, I received my Year 12 final report. I had failed Textiles and Design. My favourite subject. Designing was my life's dream. One day, I longed to see beautiful models flaunting my own designs on a glamorous runway. My dream. Shattered. All because of my final assessment, a summer dress worth 50%. Days, weeks, months spent on creating the perfect design and I failed. How was I going to get into a design school now? Feeling worthless, stressed and miserable, I just wanted to cry. Taking my usual route home, I found the house dead and empty. I dumped my bag on the polished wooden floorboards, flung myself onto the leather couch and drenched the velvety smooth cushion with my tears. When I eventually stopped, I lay on the couch, trying to process the past events. The cool leather relieved my swollen puffy eyes and red cheeks. Everything was going wrong. Wayne was gone. Dad was in a coma. My future was destroyed.

Then it occurred to me. Everything had happened after I bought that useless ring. Wayne left then the blueberry pie. Dad was in hospital after a crash with a blue car. And my final assessment was a floaty, pale blue dress. If there was a light-bulb above my head, it would have lit up. Maybe it was true. It sure pin-pointed precisely how I felt. Blue. Maybe the ring was magical. Maybe it did tell the future. I sighed heavily. An idea sprung to mind. I bounded upstairs to get the mood ring I had angrily stashed in a pile of junk. Finding it under mountains of dirty soft toys, I put it on. For the first time, it changed. It became a soft and warm yellow. Maybe everything would be okay soon… Gently, I closed my eyes, clutching onto the ring, wishing. Maybe.