I was born colorblind. I couldn't differentiate colours, only ever seeing shades of grey. A rare condition, a rare case. It was hard, but I managed. Even if I could see color, I still believe that I wouldn't have chosen it. The world is already grey, I just saw it more so.
The night was cold. That's the only thing I remember with a clear vividness front that night. It was cold and frosty and the air smelled of snow.
I don't necessarily remember how it happened. Small traces, a ripped chain of events, nothing is coherent. But I will tell you what i do remember, and then you can easily connect the dots by yourself.
I met him on the steps of the library on my way home. I remember I was in an especially sour mood, I'm not quite sure why.
Usually, I would take a detour, walk through the park or the forest, or take the trail, anything to stay away from public places. That day was different though, and to this day
I still wonder what made me walk down the main road.
He had asked me what books I read, and how come he never saw me before.
"Oh, I only pass here occasionally, I said dismissively"
"You know, the book that you're reading is quite controversial' he tells me as he slowly descends the staircase.
I take a look at the book. Simple cardboard binding, not much there, no cracked spine or dog eared pages. The title read "Where can we take you?" smack middle of the cover, no author.
I'm not quite sure if that was the book I was supposed to bring.
I look at him quizzically, but open the book nonetheless.
The next thing I know, I am no longer on the steps of the grey library, but instead in a garden, full of flowers, birds and tiny animals of all kinds.
So many colors. So so many.
A miracle. Thats what this was. A simple miracle.
I almost cried with happiness, my mind at a loss for an answer. There is no such garden on earth.
Not in the books, not in the histories.
I marvel at the beauty, but I hear footsteps behind me. The young man comes into view. He is no longer wearing a coat and a hanging scarf, but rather a linen pair of pants and a loose white shirt.
" Do you like it?" he asks
I just nod in reply.
"This is my first creation. The first of your kind were made here, but I was forced to hide this garden once they.... Left" he said, his tone leisurely but cautious.
" The first of our kind?" I question absentmindedly. Something within me stirred at that. Not in an uncomfortable way, but in cautious recognition. As if he was an old friend I once trusted.
" Flip the page," he says and I realise that I've been holding the book the whole time. I do as told.
The garden slowly morphs into a cement cell.
Cold stone, no windows or sources of light.
The man snapped his fingers, which produced a small fire at the tips. It was bright enough to light up his face, casting shadows onto the walls. His pleasant features, I had come to realise, were colored as well.
I look around, for my own curiosity more than anything. I take in the cold, the damp smell, and the inherent absence of light in the corners.
"Interesting" he says, his eyes following me. I felt him studying me. I couldn't tell if it was a bad or a good thing at the time. I still can't tell you for certain.
" What is" I questioned
"This, my dear, is your own personal heaven and hell."
I whip my head to look at him. Confusion was the only thing in my mind. I raised an eyebrow in question, but he raised one in reply, and a light laugh escaped his lips.
"It's interesting that you say you have learned to live with the fact that you cant see colors, and yet your only deepest desire, is to see them once more, in their beauty."
I bow my head down, more in embarrassment than anything,
I realised who I was talking to.
My knees buckled, and my body trembled, my mind shook in disagreement
This is not real.
"Oh, yes it is, my dear. All of this is as real as it gets."
I dont move, I don't say a word. I do not know why I was so scared.
Another light laugh escaped his lips "And this, just so happens to be your own personal hell."
We stay there, quietly, for a long amount of time. Or at least, what felt like a long time.
I twirl the book in my hands, timidly.
"How do I go back home?" I ask.
"Close the book." he states calmly.
I do, and I'm back outside, in the grey world, and the young man is smiling at me from the last step of the staircase in front of the library.
"What do I do with this information?" I ask.
"You live," he tells me.
With a nod, I left, my legs carrying me home at a steady speed, trying to grasp the idea of where I was a second ago.
I think I remember passing by the park. I'm not sure anymore.
As soon as I came home, I shrugged off my jacket, locked the door and boiled a kettle of water.
As I poured the water into the cup, I remembered.
There was never a library in my town.
The next day, I was completely blind.
