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Colourless
Writer's note: all flashbacks and dreams are inside *'s because there is no way to do italics. Story begins below:
“May they forever rest in peace amongst the shades.”
The solemn eyed priest concluded.
Dead.
Realization hit him like a brick to the face, his forever-loving grandparents were dead.
Before it had seemed like he was dreaming, like he would wake up any second and go downstairs to find his grandparents sitting at their breakfast table waiting for him.
But then his dream came true. They were dead.
“ Alistor, are you alright?”
As if in a trance, he turned. His mother was standing a few paces away, her head tilted questioningly, ebony tears pouring down her pale cheeks.
Grieving, they all were grieving, he realized, staring around at the tearstained faces that filled the bleak graveyard. Turning on his heels, he left. A dismal, bleak silence cocooned him, wrapping around him, spreading...
“Alistor! Come, they’re announcing your grandparents’ will!” A young charcoal haired boy yelped, as he appeared from around the corner, his shoes tapping hollowly on the cobblestone road, hurried.
Turning, he stared the young boy down, his clear obsidian eyes flashing. How dare they? His grandparents bodies had not yet hardened, yet they were already sweeping for what his grandparents had left them. Utterly absurd.
Face drained and pale, he brushed past the boy and headed for the graveyard gates. He was exhausted; his grandparents’ death had sucked the energy out of him, more than he'd like to admit. I have to get this over with, he thought as he retraced his steps toward the gates.
A few minutes later…
From his seat he silently listened as the priest announced his parents will; their riches were to be divided between all the members of the family, their heirlooms were given out to the eldest in his grandparents lineage, their house was to be shared amongst all of their grandchildren, but they had left him the attic. Only him. Along with a short handwritten note, warning him to tread carefully and not to fear change.
Storming across the cobblestone pathway that lead through the dismal cemetery, Alistor didn’t look back. He would never set foot in that house. Ever.
1 month later…..
*An inky black mansion cast an ominous shadow over the crumbling cement entrance. Invisible ropes seemed to latch themselves around his torso, drawing him slowly closer to ebony double doors.
The latch clicked open and the doors swung soundlessly ajar, the ropes pulling him into the musty air. Up the stairs, around endless corners leading to infinite slate- coloured hallways, twisting and turning and wrapping around like a never-ending maze. Every room he entered and every stair he stepped on, the tug on his soul became more and more forceful, until he was practically flying through the house. His mind was whirling and hazy, flashing in and out of consciousness when finally...he saw it. The door to the attic.
His steps slowed until he was trudging toward the open door, except his feet were dragging him down, like he was stuck in a puddle of molasses. He urged himself on, until the pressure increasing inside him was too much to bear. An ivory table stood perched at the far end of the cluttered attic, and suddenly the ropes drew taught and yanked him toward it so hard he lurched forward and collapsed onto his knees, panting and sweating.
A searing pain shot up through his legs, but he hauled himself up again. Slowly, he approached the table. Almost there. He could see the surface of it now, just a few paces away. Suddenly, a binding white light exploded out from the table, searing his eyes and rising up and over him like a wave. Consuming him.*
Panting hard, he woke up, rolling over to look out the large panel windows. Furiously, he rubbed his eyes, trying hard to forget this mysterious dream that had haunted his sleep. Storming over to his bathroom, his grey feet scraping on the rough floor as he walked, he splashed the misty white water on his face, letting it drip off his face and onto his shirt. Peering into the mirror, he screamed.
At work...
Staring blankly at the door he shuffled his papers. His next client was due to arrive any minute.
knock...knock knock
“Is anyone here?”
“Come in Cressida.” He replied wearily. A young woman poked her head in, her luscious, dark raven curls swaying in front of her lean, youthful face. Her matching obsidian eyes flashed, a merry smile already plastered to her face as she stepped in.
“So you would like you to sell the house for $598,680?”
Her face turned solemn, she nodded.
“I must, you know how dire my situation is.”
He nodded.
“Alright, I will prepare the waivers for you to sign, come back tomorrow, have a good day, Cressida.”
“You too, Alistor.” Slipping off the battered grey chair she headed out the door.
Walking home...
After the interview, he walked home along the sidewalk, peering into the shop windows. He was just coming up to his favourite store along his route, but as he rounded the corner, an older woman called.
“Alistor come check out this new sculpture!”
“Not today, Sarah.” Pausing he turned to look through the window and froze. There it was again. What was wrong with him? Should he see a doctor?
*He was walking toward the double doors of his grandparents’ house, the air dismal and abandoned but intriguing, he took another step, hand on the doorknob. With a small click the doors swung open to reveal the maze of dusty staircases and winding hallways,
The invisible ropes now hauling him from room to room fast enough that it seemed like he was flying.
Then he stopped.
In front of the attic door.
His hand trembling, he reached for the doorknob, the fist wrapping tighter around his heart, then he was running between boxes and shelves until he was standing in front of the worn ivory table. Panting hard, he approached, hands held defensively in front of his face. White light exploded from the smooth small table. *
Gasping, he realized he was facedown on the cement path, Sarah screaming at him to wake up. Groaning he turned over to see her tearstained face mere inches away from his. Standing up, he walked home, feeling more ghost than human.
That night…
*The table was before him once again. This time he would see what was on its worn surface, he was going to see what his grandparents had left him. Invisible claws were prying at his closed eyelids, daring him to look. A cold clamped down onto his body, and he felt more like a corpse than a human, but he had to look. Just look! His eyes flew open and sitting on the table was …. No! The light swarmed him once again, shoving him away and enveloping his form. Blinding, burning, death itself*.
He awoke, coughing and spluttering, his head pounding and his eyes dry and scratchy. He had dreamt once again. What was wrong with him? He didn’t even want to go to his grandparents’ house to see what they had left him. He wanted to forget about them and leave the pain behind, so he could move on with his life. Without daring to look in the mirror for fear of what he’d see, Alistor threw on a jacket and jogged to work.
What! How? This can’t be right…..
He was standing before his grandparents’ house, its presence demanding his attention. He was sure he had meant to end up at work, but he couldn’t remember anything of how he had managed to end up at the very place he had sworn never to set foot again. The very house that had haunted his dreams and his life for the last few months. Hand shaking, and not knowing why, he reached for the handle and entered the house.
Walking swiftly, he strolled through the house feeling surprisingly relaxed. Taking on a brisk pace, raced up the stairs and spun through the halls. Till he stood in front of the battered attic door. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it.
The door swung open, the air musty with a thin layer of white smoke drifting through the room. On near silent feet, he followed the map so clearly etched in his mind. Past the huge pile of charcoal boxes, across the ebony mats, slipping between the ashen chairs till he stood before a small ivory table. Heart thudding painfully against his ribcage, he saw the impossible.
Colour.
A small photo of a young man and a woman, a camera and an odd-looking object, small and colourful, just like the sun he had been told about so many years before. It was breathtaking, so real and vivid, like he was finally awakening from the dead. Like he was finally alive.
But wait...that photo….he knew who was in it. Oh my god. They were younger but still the resemblance was uncanny. It was his grandparents. Reaching a tentative hand forward, he touched the surface of the image. It was as if he were a living sponge, colour flowed into him, his hand turned a pale ivory, colour spreading over him, and his surroundings. The shocking variety of shades was incredible! He felt a dampness on his cheeks before he realized that tears were sliding down his flushed face. But when he went to wipe them away, he realized they were no longer black, but a vibrant blue.
For the first time in his life, he could see.
So he looked.
© Bifen
“May they forever rest in peace amongst the shades.”
The solemn eyed priest concluded.
Dead.
Realization hit him like a brick to the face, his forever-loving grandparents were dead.
Before it had seemed like he was dreaming, like he would wake up any second and go downstairs to find his grandparents sitting at their breakfast table waiting for him.
But then his dream came true. They were dead.
“ Alistor, are you alright?”
As if in a trance, he turned. His mother was standing a few paces away, her head tilted questioningly, ebony tears pouring down her pale cheeks.
Grieving, they all were grieving, he realized, staring around at the tearstained faces that filled the bleak graveyard. Turning on his heels, he left. A dismal, bleak silence cocooned him, wrapping around him, spreading...
“Alistor! Come, they’re announcing your grandparents’ will!” A young charcoal haired boy yelped, as he appeared from around the corner, his shoes tapping hollowly on the cobblestone road, hurried.
Turning, he stared the young boy down, his clear obsidian eyes flashing. How dare they? His grandparents bodies had not yet hardened, yet they were already sweeping for what his grandparents had left them. Utterly absurd.
Face drained and pale, he brushed past the boy and headed for the graveyard gates. He was exhausted; his grandparents’ death had sucked the energy out of him, more than he'd like to admit. I have to get this over with, he thought as he retraced his steps toward the gates.
A few minutes later…
From his seat he silently listened as the priest announced his parents will; their riches were to be divided between all the members of the family, their heirlooms were given out to the eldest in his grandparents lineage, their house was to be shared amongst all of their grandchildren, but they had left him the attic. Only him. Along with a short handwritten note, warning him to tread carefully and not to fear change.
Storming across the cobblestone pathway that lead through the dismal cemetery, Alistor didn’t look back. He would never set foot in that house. Ever.
1 month later…..
*An inky black mansion cast an ominous shadow over the crumbling cement entrance. Invisible ropes seemed to latch themselves around his torso, drawing him slowly closer to ebony double doors.
The latch clicked open and the doors swung soundlessly ajar, the ropes pulling him into the musty air. Up the stairs, around endless corners leading to infinite slate- coloured hallways, twisting and turning and wrapping around like a never-ending maze. Every room he entered and every stair he stepped on, the tug on his soul became more and more forceful, until he was practically flying through the house. His mind was whirling and hazy, flashing in and out of consciousness when finally...he saw it. The door to the attic.
His steps slowed until he was trudging toward the open door, except his feet were dragging him down, like he was stuck in a puddle of molasses. He urged himself on, until the pressure increasing inside him was too much to bear. An ivory table stood perched at the far end of the cluttered attic, and suddenly the ropes drew taught and yanked him toward it so hard he lurched forward and collapsed onto his knees, panting and sweating.
A searing pain shot up through his legs, but he hauled himself up again. Slowly, he approached the table. Almost there. He could see the surface of it now, just a few paces away. Suddenly, a binding white light exploded out from the table, searing his eyes and rising up and over him like a wave. Consuming him.*
Panting hard, he woke up, rolling over to look out the large panel windows. Furiously, he rubbed his eyes, trying hard to forget this mysterious dream that had haunted his sleep. Storming over to his bathroom, his grey feet scraping on the rough floor as he walked, he splashed the misty white water on his face, letting it drip off his face and onto his shirt. Peering into the mirror, he screamed.
At work...
Staring blankly at the door he shuffled his papers. His next client was due to arrive any minute.
knock...knock knock
“Is anyone here?”
“Come in Cressida.” He replied wearily. A young woman poked her head in, her luscious, dark raven curls swaying in front of her lean, youthful face. Her matching obsidian eyes flashed, a merry smile already plastered to her face as she stepped in.
“So you would like you to sell the house for $598,680?”
Her face turned solemn, she nodded.
“I must, you know how dire my situation is.”
He nodded.
“Alright, I will prepare the waivers for you to sign, come back tomorrow, have a good day, Cressida.”
“You too, Alistor.” Slipping off the battered grey chair she headed out the door.
Walking home...
After the interview, he walked home along the sidewalk, peering into the shop windows. He was just coming up to his favourite store along his route, but as he rounded the corner, an older woman called.
“Alistor come check out this new sculpture!”
“Not today, Sarah.” Pausing he turned to look through the window and froze. There it was again. What was wrong with him? Should he see a doctor?
*He was walking toward the double doors of his grandparents’ house, the air dismal and abandoned but intriguing, he took another step, hand on the doorknob. With a small click the doors swung open to reveal the maze of dusty staircases and winding hallways,
The invisible ropes now hauling him from room to room fast enough that it seemed like he was flying.
Then he stopped.
In front of the attic door.
His hand trembling, he reached for the doorknob, the fist wrapping tighter around his heart, then he was running between boxes and shelves until he was standing in front of the worn ivory table. Panting hard, he approached, hands held defensively in front of his face. White light exploded from the smooth small table. *
Gasping, he realized he was facedown on the cement path, Sarah screaming at him to wake up. Groaning he turned over to see her tearstained face mere inches away from his. Standing up, he walked home, feeling more ghost than human.
That night…
*The table was before him once again. This time he would see what was on its worn surface, he was going to see what his grandparents had left him. Invisible claws were prying at his closed eyelids, daring him to look. A cold clamped down onto his body, and he felt more like a corpse than a human, but he had to look. Just look! His eyes flew open and sitting on the table was …. No! The light swarmed him once again, shoving him away and enveloping his form. Blinding, burning, death itself*.
He awoke, coughing and spluttering, his head pounding and his eyes dry and scratchy. He had dreamt once again. What was wrong with him? He didn’t even want to go to his grandparents’ house to see what they had left him. He wanted to forget about them and leave the pain behind, so he could move on with his life. Without daring to look in the mirror for fear of what he’d see, Alistor threw on a jacket and jogged to work.
What! How? This can’t be right…..
He was standing before his grandparents’ house, its presence demanding his attention. He was sure he had meant to end up at work, but he couldn’t remember anything of how he had managed to end up at the very place he had sworn never to set foot again. The very house that had haunted his dreams and his life for the last few months. Hand shaking, and not knowing why, he reached for the handle and entered the house.
Walking swiftly, he strolled through the house feeling surprisingly relaxed. Taking on a brisk pace, raced up the stairs and spun through the halls. Till he stood in front of the battered attic door. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it.
The door swung open, the air musty with a thin layer of white smoke drifting through the room. On near silent feet, he followed the map so clearly etched in his mind. Past the huge pile of charcoal boxes, across the ebony mats, slipping between the ashen chairs till he stood before a small ivory table. Heart thudding painfully against his ribcage, he saw the impossible.
Colour.
A small photo of a young man and a woman, a camera and an odd-looking object, small and colourful, just like the sun he had been told about so many years before. It was breathtaking, so real and vivid, like he was finally awakening from the dead. Like he was finally alive.
But wait...that photo….he knew who was in it. Oh my god. They were younger but still the resemblance was uncanny. It was his grandparents. Reaching a tentative hand forward, he touched the surface of the image. It was as if he were a living sponge, colour flowed into him, his hand turned a pale ivory, colour spreading over him, and his surroundings. The shocking variety of shades was incredible! He felt a dampness on his cheeks before he realized that tears were sliding down his flushed face. But when he went to wipe them away, he realized they were no longer black, but a vibrant blue.
For the first time in his life, he could see.
So he looked.
© Bifen
