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The riots started slowly, in a feathery peacock puff of blue. Impossible to snatch one second from sixty or pin the little teal point on a Google map. It billowed into significance gradually. It wasn’t the fact of her anger that startled everyone so much as the color of it. Sweet cornflower blue. No sour lemon or spicy red or peppermint pink for her.

Twenty years of marriage. They’d gone from erotic massage and daily sex to having entire conversations while one of them was on the toilet. Companionate, the self-help books called it. Normal, proclaimed the therapist. Disappointing, conceded her friends. Then along came the little blue pill, and for a fleeting summer they’d made an electric blue dawn out of their cerulean twilight. But as his sun again breached the horizon, it fired another oven, begat another Icarus, and cast his wife of two decades into indigo shadow.

Twenty years of pain. Her uterus drowning all her other organs. Endometriosis, said the doctors. Experts named it without knowing or understanding, let alone curing. An aching flood submerging that flimsy umbrella of a name. While the little blue pills were celebrating their china anniversary.

Her fury wafted up from the hard-packed earth beneath her heavy boots till it filled the abandoned tunnel under their shared life, seeped through the leafless fall forest, and mushroomed into the air over their suburb. First it was his entire supply of little blue pills, boiled down on the new stove he’d given her for Christmas and aerosolized in one of her empty Aquanet cans. Next it was a neighbor who saw the smoke and wanted to light her own fire. Then it was a friend, her hairdresser, the pharmacist’s wife, until the city's entire supply went up in sapphire smoke. Little midnight clouds of discontent, disruption, depression.

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Broken blue promises bathed in Twitter’s turquoise light, steeped in Facebook’s navy blue, fizzing, fermented with hashtags and me toos. The blue pill challenge. Little blue pillbox hats on parade.

The waves flowed from her azure grotto around a little blue planet. Ultramarine swells overtaking tumescent tides drooping to shore, limping up the sand. Under the full light of a blue moon, her clenched cobalt fist takes the reins from the sun. An indigo child steaming into a new millennium. And away we go.