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Absence of Color.

Written by 90210.

By 90210Published 3 years ago 10 min read
1

It is the year 2037, and 99.9% of the world population suffers from Monochromacy. Numerous research facilities have been set up across the country, with the purpose of studying, testing, and experimenting on the unaffected 0.1%.

I: WHAT ARE YOU RUNNING FROM?

The sky was ink. The street was lifeless. A rare occurrence but true, nonetheless. Oddly enough, before he stepped into the bar, the entire block was populated. It’s almost like everyone vanished. Swaying and stumbling from side to side, he continued on. Every five seconds or so, he’d let his head fall down to his chest, but before it was too late he shook himself back into rhythm. Each foot, planted in front of the other. One, two, left, right. As long as he kept his rhythm, he’d make it back home and then he could finally let his head fall down, all the way to his feet. The morning wouldn’t be so kind to him, but when is it ever?

He turned the corner onto another street. By the time this happened, his head had already gained five more pounds and his feet were beginning to sink. Maybe this wasn’t as easy as he thought it’d be. It certainly wasn’t the plan. Suddenly, footsteps came from behind him. They were faint at first but in a matter of seconds, they became loud and rapid. Before he could sway his head around, a mysterious man had already sprinted past him. His eyes widened, and he yelled out to the man, but the man kept on running. So he followed him.

He took off after the man, yelling as he chased him. The man never seemed to notice him, he just kept his pace, running past every streetlight, every crosswalk, every stop sign, every restaurant, bar, club, store, and anything else they were to come across. The man never grew tired. He wasn’t smiling, nor frowning. He didn’t stumble or trip up, or anything like that. He just glid down each street, expressionless. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of his stalker. He gave up on trying to call out to this mysterious man, and instead, he just followed him. Not in a ‘chasing’ manner, but in an act of genuine curiosity. The two ran.

Eventually, they ended up out of the city, and they found themselves on a bridge. The man came to an abrupt stop. His follower stopped as well, dropping to the floor, gasping for air. After finally catching his breath, he was able to bring himself back to his feet.

“What are you running from?”, the man asked. He felt a shock go through his body. He hesitated and then shook his head.

“What?”, he responded.

The man stepped closer to him and asked him once again.

“What are you running from?”

He froze.

He couldn’t respond because he didn’t know what to respond with. There was something different about the way this question felt. Tears built up in his eyes and fell down his face.

“All of it”.

The man slowly nodded and looked up at the star-filled sky. “What are you running from?”, he asked the man, flipping the script. The man looked back down at him and inhaled, deeply.

“I’m trying to get back to it all”.

The man then turned around and kept running. He watched him depart. The entire interaction almost felt surreal, like a dream perhaps…

Suddenly, a group of masked individuals run up to him and begin to restrain him. He yells out, struggling to escape their grip. On and on, back and forth, tick-tock, time goes on. A wild beast and his captors. One of the masked men steps back, loads up, and punches him in the face. He immediately loses consciousness. They then carry him off into the night.

II: DO PSYCHOPATHS DREAM IN BLACK AND WHITE

We find ourselves in a room. A soundproof room, surrounded by white walls. In the center of the room, sits a desk. ‘He’, is asleep on one side, with a nasty-looking bruise under his eye socket. Across from him, a man wearing a lab coat, sporting thick glasses, and a name badge that reads “Everett”. Two guards stand behind him, next to a door. There’s an indescribable feeling in the room, an aura. The overhead lights flicker on and off. They’re still doing their job, for the most part, so we’ll let it slide. ‘He’ begins to awaken, slowly. He rubs his face but when he hits the bruise on his eye, his nerves jump. He winces.

“Nice”, he says, sarcastically.

“I’m sorry, Josh. If it were up to me, or if I had any knowledge of it, it wouldn’t have happened”, Everett responds.

“Sure”.

“You don’t believe me?”.

“Absolutely not”.

Everett reaches into his coat pocket. He stops. “Is this okay?”, Everett asks. Josh throws his hands up in a ‘who gives a damn’ motion. Dr. Everett continues. He places a recording device at the center of the table. He waves his hand, signaling for the guards to leave the room. Everett then hits a red button on the device. It beeps. He speaks into the device.

“Facility D5. February 5th, 2037. Subject 6745037. Otherwise known as Josh Grant. Time is 12:48 in the morning. Session 008”.

“Subject”, Josh says while scoffing

Dr. Everett leans back into his chair. He clears his throat.

“State your first and last name for me please”.

You already did that”.

“Don’t act like you don’t understand procedure”.

Josh scoffs, leans in, and states the requested information.

“So, now, we can proceed… Why did you attempt to escape, Josh?”.

“Is that a serious question?”.

“Please answer the question”.

He rolls his eyes and stares at the ceiling.

“I didn’t wanna be here anymore”.

Everett fixes his glasses. He stares into Josh. The way a Christian would stare into a non-believer.

“Do you not believe in our mission? The progress we’ve made?”.

“Oh for Christ’s sake! What progress!?”.

Everett presses his fingers together and lets out a quiet, but detectable, “hm”. The tension in the room could be felt from miles away. Or maybe it was just steam blowing off of Josh’s end. Who knows what the doctor feels.

“May I ask why you don't believe in our mission?”.

“Why is 99% of the world still colorblind?”.

“Please don't answer the question with another question”.

Josh doesn’t respond.

“But for the sake of catering to your curiosity, my answer is that I don’t know, Josh. No one knows. That’s what we’re all here to figure out”.

“I see”.

“You're an important piece of the puzzle, Josh”.

“Is that supposed to make me feel special?”.

“No. It's true”.

“What about the millions of other 'pieces'?”.

“I'm guessing you mean those who are also unaffected. What about them?”.

“Why am I needed here, if I'm simply just one out of millions”.

“While that is true, you have to realize that no one has ever seen anything like this. In a situation so irrational, you become just as important as the next man, in terms of us trying to find a cause and a solution. That is how we see it”.

Josh sits back in his chair. The world doesn’t make sense, anymore. His world doesn’t make sense anymore.

“When you were found on the bridge, I was told that - it seemed as if you were speaking to someone? Would you care to explain?”.

“No”, Josh responds, embarrassed.

Psychopaths tend to dream in black and white.

Shivers go through Josh’s body. He doesn’t know what to respond with.

“What did you say?”.

Everett has a look of concern on his face. He scratches his head.

“Excuse me?”, Everett responds.

“What did you say?”.

Everett looks puzzled.

“I didn’t say anything”.

“Yes, you did!”.

Everett doesn’t know what to say. There’s an uncomfortable silence between them. Nothing but the sound of deep inhalations and exhalations, coming from Josh. He has the look of a wild animal.

“Is something wrong, Josh?”, Everett asks with genuine concern.

“N-.. No, I’m fine”.

“You have to talk to me, Josh”.

“I promise I’m fine”.

Everett sighs. He can feel Josh getting further away, secluding himself.

“Alright, with that being said, we want to run the usual tests today. Blood, urine, reflex, balance, etc. You know, the usuals”.

“Yes, I know”.

“We also want to try a new experiment. We'll set up after testing. I believe we may have something very promising here”.

“Oh wow, I haven't heard that one before”.

“I'm serious, Josh”.

Josh scoffs and folds his arms.

“Will you be willing to participate?”.

“Do I have a choice?”.

“You always have a choice”.

“Is that so?”.

“...Will you be willing to participate?”.

“Why not?”.

“Yes?”.

“Yes”.

Everett nods in confirmation, gets up, and leaves the room. Josh ponders, wondering what the future will hold. The near-future, and the not so near future. He dozes off into a peaceful abyss.

The flickering lights finally shut off.

III: STARS FELL ON ALABAMA

Some sort of ‘monitoring’ studio. On one side of the glass, is Josh. Seated in a comfortable-looking chair, with goggles on, the lenses blacked out. A microphone hangs down in front of him, right down to his nose. A scar lies on his forearm. Underneath the surface, lies a chip. Through the soundproof glass, we can see Dr. Everett and an assistant of his. In front of them, all types of technology. More specifically, a pulse monitor, a computer, and some buttons that look like they serve some sort of great purpose. The lights are dim in both rooms. Nothing but complete silence.

“Proceed”, says Dr. Everett.

His assistant nods and hits a button. Azalea by Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong plays at a low level. He hits another button and suddenly a red glow fills Josh’s goggles.

“Alright Josh, speak to me”. Everett’s voice is transmitted through some type of speaker.

“What am I supposed to say, exactly?”.

“Its feel, Josh! How does it feel!? How does it make you feel?”.

Josh struggles.

“I mean… It’s warm..? Hot, maybe, I don’t know?”.

Everett sighs.

“Next color”.

His assistant hits a button. A green glow fills Josh’s goggles.

“Talk to me”.

“Nothing”.

“Come on, Josh! You’ve got to try!”.

“I am!”.

NEXT COLOR

Purple. Nothing.

NEXT COLOR

Yellow. Nothing.

NEXT COLOR

Silver. Nothing.

NEXT COLOR

Orange.

NEXT COLOR

Blue.

NEXT COLOR

White.

So on, and so forth…

An hour has passed. Josh still sits there, exhausted. Everett, even more exhausted, as well as frustrated. Not so much as frustrated with the experiment and the subject themselves, but frustrated in fear that he’ll never gain back what he lost. He nods to his assistant, and his assistant nods back. He hits a button and Stars Fell on Alabama by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong plays. He hits another button and this time a very gentle rosegold glow fills Josh’s goggles. Josh inhales sharply. His heart rate jumps. Everett notices, his eyes become wide.

“Keep it here. Josh… Josh speak to me”.

Josh doesn’t say a word.

“Josh..? Josh. Josh, can you hear me? Josh!”.

We find ourselves in a memory. Josh’s memory. A park filled with nothing but healthy, green grass. The sky is ever so blue. Not a cloud in sight. A young woman hums a beautiful melody. Her face isn’t visible, but we can almost presume that she looks divine. Only bits and pieces of everything can be remembered. Fragments. The only thing of constant motion is the piece of jewelry around her neck: a rosegold, heart-shaped locket. It sways back and forth as she dances with Josh in the park. Just the two of them.

Suddenly, everything begins to fade from color into a shade of greyscale.

In real-time, Everett’s still repeating Josh’s name. He doesn’t respond. Tears gradually drop from his eyes, onto his cheeks. He realizes, now, that he’s become one of them.

Feelings that will never be felt again.

Short Story
1

About the Creator

90210

"foot and hand on the gates."

Reader insights

Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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  1. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

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    The story invoked strong personal emotions

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  • Coral Perry2 years ago

    Great story! You managed to create both a sad and heartfelt tone that was consistently maintained.

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