Word Bank

Love is a colour

Black. White. Those are the only colors I can see, those are the only colors anybody can see, and grey I suppose, there is a little grey in life. We knew what colors were. We knew what reds were and what they can be associated with. Red; Heat. Blue; Sadness and water. We knew what rainbows were, what they were suppose to look like, but all we saw were different shades of bleached and colorless stripes running across the sky.

The skyscrapers were what I would call a deep charcoal, the grass a dark grey, and the sky a light grey almost to the point were I might call it a dark white. I live in a big city, Chicago to be exact. We were the second region to be affected by the absence of all those chintzy colors. The first region affected was the north-east. I don't really understand what happened, when I was younger we were given history books because the famine of pigments had been around for nearly ten years, but than all of the books were destroyed when I was just a boy. It was New York, that, at least, is what I can remember. New York started it all. I of course wasn't alive, so I would have no idea how it felt to see the sun's yellow rays, or the oceans clear like blue taken away. The government said it was...terrible, to see those colors, I believe that was the word they used. However rumor had it the government could still see the vibrant shades. We're not suppose to want to see any other thing than black, white, and grey, but I do.

I want to, I need to. I want to see a rainbow, or one of those soaked in dye shirts that people would wear in the 70's. I'm tired of the mundane and boring images I see, and have seen ever since I was born. My dad tried to tell me about greens and purples, I listened of course. It was interesting, he said by looking at my shirt, I was probably wearing blue, he could tell that, but I couldn't. "How do you know?" I'd ask.

"Well, I grew up with colors, and I had to get used to this. I knew what color my shirts were, then I'd see them in black and white," I'd tilt my head in interest, wondering what he would explain to me next. "Right now, my pants are light brown, and my shirt is blue, just like yours." He'd smile.

"But dad, my shirt isn't the same as yours." I'd tell him, and he'd laugh. He look down at his button up and then look at my polo.

"You're right there, son." He smiled his white toothed, scrunched nose, and crinkled eyed smile. "The colors look a bit different." I nodded my head, his shirt was lighter than the mine. "I'm wearing light blue, and you're wearing navy." I'd always get confused when he'd talk about colors, especially the shades. He'd say navy, or baby blue, gold and pastel, once he even mentioned periwinkle and fuchsia. Barely any of it made sense. I would still like to talk to my father about what everything is. My mother constantly said it was useless, and that we shouldn't talk about what we can't change. She was scared. I never understood why, until that day.

My dad arrived from work May 17th, 2022. Specific? Yes, very. Just like it was quite distinct when the bullet went through my fathers skull, crushing pieces of his brain, and splattering dark blots across the wall, killing him instantly. Surprisingly it wasn't a huge group of men, it was two people covered in black suits, I couldn't see their faces, but I wish I could. I would want to stare at them, so they couldn't help but feel my pain. They shot and left, carrying my dads body through the door. I cried, and cried, then cried some more. I was on my knees, crouching by a blood puddle, trying to remember everything about my dads face and thoughts. I was only thirteen. My mom came home later, after she finished her job as a nurse. "Honey, I'm home." She called, she'd always say that, her and my dad laughed when she did, it was some sort of joke from before I was alive. She had a smile plastered on her face, and then she saw the blood. Her grin faded, but she didn't bawl her eyes out like I had, she had quickly stood me up, and pushed me into my room. When she told me I could come out, there was no blood, or stains, and she acted like it never happened. That night I heard her sobbing for my father to come back to her.

Now I'm thirty one, I work for the government, and I dream about seeing colors. I walk into the Hancock building, swiping my ID card, and flashing a smirk at the receptionist. She nodded her head with a grin. I headed to the grey elevator doors, stepped inside, and pressed the number 86, making it glow white. The elevator sped upwards, I was alone in the inclosed space, which was a rarity with the hundred floors, and hundreds of people working on each level. The elevator opened with a chime. Someone was there to greet me, which was also new. "Mr. Nimfus?" He inquired.

"Yes, sir." I replied, not knowing wether or not this man was lesser or better than I.

"Mr. Yanks is just fine, sir." He replied formally, which meant that he worked on a lower level than me, or the same one, although I've never seen him before.

"Well than, Mr. Yanks, why have you been waiting for me?" I asked. He smiled.

"You're moving to floor 91." My eyes widened at the statement, but I quickly recovered, not wanting to show any signs of weakness. Floors are like social ladders from ages ago. Level one, is not only the lowest paying, but it's also where the least respected people stay, the receptionist, and the janitors. (Unless a mess is made on an upper floor.) Level One Hundred on the other hand is where the governors are, those are the ones who are rumored to have the gift of seeing colors. So level 91, means the governors are taking a notice to me, but any level below 90, they pay no mind to. Usually workers move one level up at a time, so being moved up five floors is quite the accomplishment. I started on level 67 because that's where the writers took their first jobs, and over the course of ten years I made it to 86, well, now 91.

We got back in the elevator and Mr. Yanks told me to head across the hallway to my left, and enter the last door to the right. It was labeled Vice President Jackson-Rethers. I recognized the name of course, but I had expected him to be on at least level 99, but then again, the company he (and I) work at, aren't paid by the government. We're paid by the people, or mostly referred to as the citizens that buy our product, but we work for the government, meaning 36% of our revenue is theirs. I opened the door and the man himself sat at his desk, with a woman sitting across from him.

"Ah, Mr. Nimfus, please, take a seat next to Miss Mineish." Mr. Jackson-Rethers called in a cheery voice. I smiled and thanked him, then placed myself in the chair next to the woman. Her hair looked dark, her clothes were like mine, except more famine, and she seemed taller than most women, but also had a thinner frame. She greeted me with a semi happy hello, and I returned the gesture. "Congratulations on your promotion, sir." The VP beamed.

"Please, sir, just Mr. Nimfus is quite alright." I nodded my head. His face turned stern, although he made it seem fake.

"I will have no speaking of that nature on this level." He stated as he pointed a finger at me. When I had told him to call me by my name, it was like telling him I know he's better than me, which, I honestly believe he is. Mr. Jackson-Rethers, however is humble, and unlike any other economic leader there ever was, or probably ever will be.

"Yes, sir." I spoke, and he smiled, returning back to his jolly attitude.

"Good. Well, Miss Mineish will be showing you to your office, you'll be working with her for as long as the both of you are still around." I turned to her, she was pretty, and I couldn't say I was disappointed to be her partner. Mr. Jackson-R, as I realized most people would abbreviate his name, told us we could leave and waved us away.

Miss Mineish introduced herself to me, she extended her arm for me to shake. I reached out and shook it. It lasted no more than three seconds, but in those seconds, something happened. She didn't look grey, she looked, well, I don't know how she looked, I couldn't describe it. She wasn't grey, or white, or black, no part of her were those colors. She was beautiful. She took her hand away and then everything went back to normal. "Did you see that ma'am?" I asked, wanting to view more of whatever that was. She smirked and shook her head.

"See what, sir?"