Writing Prompt: Day 94

94.jpgDay 94 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Center a story on color.

Shannon: Black was the first thing I saw, the absence of anything distinguishable. Then with a few blinks the world around me appeared again in multiple shades of gray. I kept blinking waiting for the color to return. Still gray.

There was something wrong, not only with my vision but I couldn’t feel anything. I wasn’t even sure if I could move, but I was sitting up straight, so maybe I regaining control. Red, finally I saw the familiar color. I titled my head enough to see that I was strapped into the chair with red zip ties. Oddly, no other colors returned. I looked around. Everything red stood out like an accent. It was like a photoshopped picture in real life.

“What are you seeing,” a woman with glasses and a tablet sat in the chair in front of me. Suddenly the red clicked off, and I honestly answered, “Gray and blue.” Color was all I cared about.

“Perfect, it’s working,” she smiled. “Did you see any other colors before I came into the room?”

“Why am I here? Then I’ll tell you,” I had one piece of leverage, as far as far I knew.

“It’s nothing bad. It’s just hard to get wiling volunteers when their vision is at risk. It’s completely safe, but people get nervous about the needles. That’s why we needed to knock you out.”

“How did you…”

“It’s best not to ask about details,” she interrupted. “What color do you see now?”

Green, but I didn’t say it out loud. “Are you going to let me go?”

“Yes, after we know all the side effects. Then we’ll never bug you again, and if everything works your world will be more beautiful than you can even imagine.”

Yellow, she changed the color again. I got the feeling either my eyes were giving me away, or her technology had access to my view. “What does that mean?”

“I have this theory that there are colors on this planet we can’t see. I’m trying to tap into them, and you’re my first guinea pig. What color do you see now,” she tapped the controls and looked up to stare with a reluctant squint.

“Wow,” I breathed out. She was right, “I don’t know.”

Erin: The problem with the genetic modifications that I had the most issue with was my new eyes. The eyes were already pretty open windows to the soul. When they changed our genetic makeup to color-change with our moods the windows were not only open, but screamed the truth.

When my eyes turned black on my one year anniversary date with Jape, I lost someone who most days I felt very close to. I was grounded for my eyes turning purple. When my eyes turned pink in gym class I was mocked to a level not previously reached. Our government has taken away our most intimate privacy, our feelings.

Write in color?

2 thoughts on “Writing Prompt: Day 94

  1. Sitting alone in the enormous cavern, I knelt before the cauldron boiling merrily in the centre of the circle. As it bubbled, I cast my arms about the room, calling stridently into the murky darkness, “Oh, spirits of Terra, of mother earth, I beseech thee to join ‘round this circle with me! I call upon thee to lend thy strength and solidity to this potion of good will!” My voice echoed back at me, making the candles flicker like snakes on the hunt, and I shivered with the energy surge that followed. Gradually, as I held still, a cool green mist entered the consecrated circle and swirled around peacefully before me.
    Throwing in some sage and rosemary, I felt stable and at ease with the world; I let this feeling of comfort continue for a few moments, before I pushed the mist to one side. It just hovered and undulated in the corner as I continued with the potion.
    Breathing deeply, I shouted, “Spirits of Aer, of the breath of life, I ask thee to join me in this circle. I call upon thee to lend thy freedom and enchantment to this potion of good will!” Again, the words reverberated in the room, refracting off the uneven walls. When the pale yellow fog came, it was less dense and hovered a few feet from the ground in a fluffy cloud. I picked up a handful of burnt incense ash and let it fall from my fingers into the roiling buttercup concoction, followed quickly by a dash of dried daffodil petals. This opaque fog floated, of its own accord, to my right and let its far side brush against the calm green mist.
    With the third invocation, I was feeling drained and my voice reflected that, “Spirit of Ignis, of the fires of passion, I call upon thee to give thy fury and desire to this potion of good will!” This time, a slinking mass of roiling red haze crawled along the floor, licking everything around it with flame. As it singed my bare feet, I added lava rock and red rose petals to the mixture and stirred the brew until it smelled of dust and spring mornings. This haze slinked to its corner like a hurt dog and touched the pale yellow fog.
    Passionately, I boomed, “Spirits of Aqua, of oceans and the lifeblood of this earth, I ask of your to join me in the circle! I call upon thee to lend thy clear thought and energy to this potion of good will!” A swell of transparent water splashed into the circle, covering my feet in freezing, damp air. But as I threw in some river water and blue forget-me-nots, the waves receded to their place, gently surging within itself.
    “Spirits, I, finally, call upon thee to lend me thine energy to imbue this potion with good will for all this year! I beseech thee to cast out negative thoughts and people from wherever this potion may touch and all who let it touch their lives.” All the candle flames flickered and rose madly as I stood and the cauldron boiled feverishly. A pinch of animal blood and graveyard dirt were the last ingredients to be added as the cave burst into blinding alabaster light.
    I practically screamed, “So mote it be!” and the candles all fell dark as the spell was enacted.

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  2. Created to Write:
    Heather steps out of the trees and walks down the subtle slope of the meadow. She suddenly stops, falling to her knees. No one can hear her at the farm, so she screams her guts out at the sky. There are no words that follow, there’s only the long shriek of frustration, sadness, wrath, confusion, loneliness, and stress.
    Heather then tilts her head to the grass below her, hearing the remains of her cry move through the wind and fade away. The wind had picked up a bit since she arrived.
    She’s still and quiet after, both in mind and lips, on her knees, one hand clenching the grass and the other laying on her lap. She stares at the bright green grass sway as the wind passes again.
    She then parts her mouth, closes her eyes, and asks a one worded question.
    “Why?”
    She’s given up on the demands and the pacing and the tears and trying to do it herself. She’s given up on herself.
    So now all she has is the quiet.
    The wind picks up around her, subtly. She hears something in the distance, calling but without a voice. She looks up, no tears on her face. There is nothing that could have made the sound.
    But she still stares. Because ahead of her is the bluest sky that she’s ever encountered. It wasn’t a perfect blue, but many colors mixing together with thin clouds and reflection of the water below. In the center is the bright white sun.
    The horizon starts to tint, as if a match was lit on just the other side. The yellow darkens to orange and the orange burns brighter and leaps up to join the sun in its descent.
    As the yellow rims the sun, the orange connects it to the bright red brimming at the horizon, bubbling as if chilly was going to overflow the pot.
    The lake down the slope mirrors everything, distorted by the rippling currents. The green of the field and trees is even more pronounced because of the reds adorning the sky.
    Then the red overtakes the orange at its edges, circling to above the sun. The sun’s edge hits the horizon and the red above it is burnt to a purple. The beautiful blue that started the scene stayed in the top of the sky, only now to mix with the purple and create dark blue hues that also darken the green, making it shiny with silver.
    And then Heather watches the sun, her eyes dry and protesting, as it falls below her sight, taking all the warm colors with it. The last deep red falls away and the sky is plunged into a deep ebony sprinkled with stars.
    She kneels in the dark, not daring to open her mouth. Tears flood to relieve the burn staring at the sunset had caused, but Heather pays no mind.
    She saw just how beautiful falling into darkness can be. And she knows that there will be a sunrise in the morning. Even when the darkness takes her vision, she can always count on the light.

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