The Colors

The world is blue now. At times it's gold, sometimes green or violet. The colors appear in separate waves, though they used to blend together. We don't know what caused the separation, but we all know what happens with each wave. Noah calls blue “the foundational shift,” because it causes the pavement beneath us to become disjointed, rolling back and forth, moving up and down, each piece of its own accord. I can see D’Andrea up ahead, smoothly transitioning from one piece to another, bopping with the wave of it. “Surfing the turf” as she calls it. Noah is not far off, his skin speckled with sweat because it is his turn to carry our communal pack. Green and tattered, but holding together as well as any of us, the pack is filled with the last of our possessions. One day ago, we packed up from the center—the place where most of the survivors in the metropolis had gathered to create a camp of sorts. It was a good place, but Noah had heard a rumor. Now the three of us are out braving the wide-open streets on our own.

The rumor that started our journey came from a wanderer who stayed the night three days ago. He told Noah he was headed to the outer world, that out beyond the city the colors are no longer separated. The next day, the man was gone—on his way to the outer world. I hold the belief of most: that the outer world is dangerous and there are no survivors beyond the city limits. But Noah had D’Andrea convinced within an hour. I guess she wants more than a life where you have to fight rats for food and sleep in an overcrowded, abandoned subway tunnel. Even though I wasn’t convinced of Noah’s rumor, I left with them. Because these two are the only family I have.

“How do we know if we’re headed the right way?” I call out.

“It doesn’t matter which way, Jay,” D’Andrea calls back, “in a city any way is out.”

But some ways take longer than others, I think, but I keep my thoughts to myself. Instead, I ask Noah, “Didn’t that old man say what direction he was headed? Maybe one part of the outer world is safer than the other?”

Noah just shrugs in response, “He left before I had a chance to ask him more questions. But I wouldn’t worry, what D’Andrea said makes sense.”

As we pass an alleyway, I see a sparkle out of the corner of my eye. I pause to look—the sun is reflecting off something. Turning to investigate, I notice the pavement along the alley is still. This puts me on high alert—just because something looks stable doesn’t make it so. It just means that I don’t know which way the pavement will react under my feet. Up or down, side-to-side, rolling, or even splitting. Without stopping the others, I move into the alley, eyes trained on the glimmer within its depths. As I step, the pavement gives a slight roll. I cautiously move forward, then, reaching the glimmer, I stop. My eyes have adjusted to the light and I realize that the glimmer was just the sun reflecting on broken glass. I’m glad I didn’t stop the others. It will be easy enough to catch up with them, but not easy enough to live down their relentless teasing. I am the scavenger of the group, and while this is a useful skill, even I will admit I’ve brought back some articles of questionable use.

The glass is scattered around a box so small it could fit in my hand. A little jewelry box, the kind that once played music and had a tiny mirror in its lid—the glass scattered across the ground. Inside are two mismatched earrings and a delicate heart-shaped locket hanging from a gold chain. I pick it up gently, watching its reflection shoot off the bright shattered glass. Suddenly the glimmering of the glass turns dull and the pavement stops rolling. I look up to see what has blocked out the sun.

Violet.

Without waiting to watch the color slide down invisible walls of atmosphere to bath the city, I turn and run from the alleyway. Back on the street there is no sight of D’Andrea or Noah. Perhaps they’ve hunkered down already. I don’t have time to look; I can’t be caught out in the open when the violet hits the pavement. The store directly to my right has broken windows, but the one next to that has a sturdy wooden door and a display window that’s mostly intact—I make for it. The door sticks. With two hard kicks at the jam, I’m able to loosen it up enough to force an entry. Then I force it shut.

As the violet descends on the city, electrifying the air, the light from the window becomes muted and I find myself in a dark hole of a place. The air, responding to the violet, grows thick with static and my ears buzz. Outside, I know the buzzing is strong enough you can’t hear anything else. I feel the hair on my arms floating up to meet the electricity and my body tingles the way your mouth does after you’ve taken a bite out of a lime. I’ll admit, within the safety of four walls, I kind of enjoy the experience. Away from its direct rays, the violet isn’t so harmful. The main danger lies in invisible electric surges that come like waves. Some are so strong they’re known to stop a human’s heart.

I look around my hiding place. Unlike most stores, this one still has most of its contents. Not that it's untouched—everything is off the racks and shelves, piled in heaps that probably have been grazed through by humans and animals alike. There’s a pile of disintegrating clothing at my feet. A thrift shop.

I snort, of course, I would end up in a thrift shop.

I half heartedly shuffle through a few piles, but nothing of worth. Mostly clothes and a few electronics that were obsolete even before the colors separated. The walls are covered with amateurish, faded artwork. I go back to gaze at the violet through the window and wonder where Noah and D’Andrea have taken shelter. Once the violet is over, I can find them and we can continue on our way.

What will happen if Noah is wrong about the outer world? What if the colors don’t blend out there and we find ourselves having to face the violet, or worse yet, the green that disintegrates organic matter on contact, without shelter? A faint buzz in the air interrupts my thoughts. It comes again, sounding like . . . no, it couldn’t be . . . Noah’s voice calling my name. His voice is too clear to be within the safety of walls. Noah, the big-hearted dope, is aiming to get himself killed. I move to the left side of the window, angling my body to see out as far up the street as I could. There is Noah, alone in the middle of the street. I shout at him, but it’s no use, he can’t hear me above the electricity humming outside.

I curse under my breath and then dive at the pile of rejected clothes. Shifting through them with a frenzy I finally find a large overcoat with holes in the sleeves. It will have to do. I wrap a scarf around my face, then pull the overcoat on. Bracing against the electrical shock that will hit me, I force myself out the door. I can hear the sound of the violet cracking against the coat, less potent waves of it hitting my skin underneath. Around me the air is thick, resisting my forward movement. I call out, but he doesn’t hear. Then I see Noah start to stagger as if shot—an electric surge hit him. I push forward, trying to run over the broken pavement. “Noah!” I scream, not caring that he can’t hear.

He is halfway laid out on the pavement when I catch hold of him underneath his armpits, knowing I would never get his massive frame off the ground once he landed. “I’ve got you, buddy!” I shout this near his ear, but he doesn’t respond.

I hope desperately that it's just the electrical noise blocking my voice as I start to drag him towards the nearest building. Like a ghost, D’Andrea appears by my side—apparently, I hadn’t heard her shouts either. I do hear her cursing as she rips off a glove and stuffs a raw hand under Noah’s neck to feel for a pulse. Her face says it isn’t good.

“Help me!” I give Noah a tug. She nods and her arms encircle his legs. Even with her help, its slow going. I feel every muscle in my body strain.

“Jay,” D’Andrea’s voice is soft.

The sound makes me notice the world aside from Noah—the buzzing violet is gone. D’Andrea has stopped moving.

I look up at the sky, and it is green.

Already descending down to the tops of the buildings, it is falling toward us. I pull frantically—we can’t be caught outside. At first, D’Andrea pulls with me, but then I feel the full weight of Noah’s body. D’Andrea’s hand falls on my shoulder.

“Jay.”

No. I am not going to do it. Her hand slips down to my arm and grabs it with intensity, “Jay!”

Without waiting for my response, all the energy she was expending to help move Noah is now suddenly propelling me away from him.

“No,” I weakly insist, but still my legs obey her.

D’Andrea barely has the door shut when the green hits the pavement. I can’t look outside. I know what is happening and I can’t bear to see it. Involuntarily, my body seeks out higher ground. I move up old concrete steps, flight after flight until there are none left. On the top floor there is a huge office space, filled with abandoned cubicles, with a panoramic view of the city. I start to move towards the wall of windows facing the street we were on, but I stop myself. I have to keep Noah in my memory as he had been. I don’t want to see what is no longer there. I turn and go to the opposite window and stare out, hardly taking in what I’m seeing. I can’t even think. I stand that way for a long time.

At some point, I feel D’Andrea next to me. Her presence is like a color of its own, the effect of which slowly brings me back into my body. Is that how it feels to leave your body behind, when all is said and done? Was that how Noah had felt? The thought makes me swallow hard. I sniff. If there are tears, I don’t feel them, just this hollow numbness that has divorced me from my body. I need to recenter so I stuff my hand in my pocket, feeling the locket. A sharper pang of grief hits my chest as I pull it out, letting it spin in the air: the object that made me lose Noah. I can’t keep it. Silently, I hand it to D’Andrea. Perhaps her wearing it will reclaim it, changing the green I felt inside back to blue—the rolling feeling her eyes often gave me whenever she looked into mine.

“I’m so sorry, Jay.” She whispers.

I just look out past the tops of buildings surrounding us.

There, on the horizon is something different. It isn’t bathed in green light like the city, instead it stands without a dominant color pouring over it. Alone in its simplicity. Green grass, trees wildly reaching upward, pure sky. It is Noah’s outer world.