Heartbeat in Color

Do colors reflect the soul? If they were meant to, they would be embracing the scattered mess of papers on his desk.

In the small box he called a room, they devour his memory, playing with the red hue of his shadow cast by the burning candle.

Black brushes against his lashes, folding them, while brown momentarily softens the wrinkles from his forehead.

Then, he casts a glance at a picture trapped in a wooden frame. The white of his smile gleams from his teeth, while the gray smoke blurs the features of his face, yellowed by the years.

However, the colors appear to be losing their vividness tonight. It was like his eyes were withering, as he had not stopped crying since she left.

The ink in his pen was no longer blue, but rather was becoming colorless as his words on paper lost their place.

With every passing hour, his heartbeat slowed, and with every passing hour, the colors became more rebellious.

Even as his heartbeat accelerated toward a stop, he refused to surrender. He stepped out of the box, determined to see for himself what the matter with the colors was.

He donned his black coat, now stripped of its blackness, and stepped into a night that was no longer night. In spite of his shock, his heart continued its slow descent despite the colors' rebellion against all that surrounded them.

His pace quickened like a madman in search of someone to ask... What is happening? What happened to all the colors?

He gazed at the scraps of paper scattered along the roadside, discarded by their owners after fulfilling some duty. He also saw scraps used to wipe away emotions that had long been buried into forgetfulness. Yet, none were written in black, or green, or blue—they were all devoid of color.

His breath came in ragged gasps, and only the colors held them hostage, stifling his desires with no hope of release.

No one was to be found; had everyone taken refuge, fearing the colorless epidemic that had ravaged the earth?

At that moment, he called out to them directly…

"Where are you, colors?" His voice echoed through the vast open space before him, rippling like a wave over the faded spectrums of lifeless, colorless things.

As he stood on the brink of the abyss, his heart grew eerily calm, searching for something to comfort him. Overcome with rage, he growled:

"So, this is it? You retreat so cowardly, all of a sudden? I know someone just like you, with seven spectrums of her own. Help her… Teach her how to destroy a man!"

He heard slow footsteps approaching from behind. A man with clouded, white eyes, dragging a cane before him, feeling his way through the colorless darkness left behind, like the ruins of a city seen only by the blind.

 

- "Pardon me, kind sir," he asked, "where have the colors gone?"

- "Colors? Can’t you see that I’m blind? All I see is vast emptiness before me."

- "It’s driving me mad! I can’t see any colors... Where have the white, red, blue, yellow, purple, and green gone?"

 

The blind man stood calm as a rock, wrapped in pale shadows, and cloaked in stray, colorless hues.

- “You're blind now, too? Try smelling them, tasting them, touching them, hearing them, if you can't see them... So you won't lose your mind.”

 

He glanced at the blind man with a sneer, as if he had heard a ridiculous joke.

- “You have never seen them, yet you’re telling me to embrace them with my other senses? Are you blind and a fool?”

 

The blind man extended his cane, as if offering a handshake, and calmly said:

- "Let's sit for a while, and I will tell you my story. Then you can go look for them, but my story is filled with color."

 

His heart was too weak for another beat. He felt the end drawing near and did not mind that the last thing he would hear was the story of a blind man in a world without color. Eventually, he gave in to the ground and sat, gazing up at his face.

- "Go on, speak…” he said, “You have all the time in the world, but mine is slipping away."

 

The blind man reflected: "When I was a child, I found beauty in the shadows cast by the colors on my bedroom walls. Whenever I heard my parents argue so viciously, I curled up against that colorful wall. I would paint a blue sea, pink flowers, a glowing white moon, and a warm yellow sun over a peaceful home, framed by turquoise hues over green meadows. I always painted myself smiling, wearing that purple outfit my father forbade me to wear, because it was too girly. I loved it dearly, and I was grateful for it, for it never scolded me when I painted it on my small figure on the wall. Even the other colors never reprimanded me for conjuring them from nothing; to comfort me, to keep me company, and to ease my fear of my father."

 

"I would see red when I felt pain or bled after playing on my bed. My mother sent me to it, to punish and shield me, as her eyes filled with colorless tears. It did not mind the fact that I painted it as an angry volcano erupting from my chest onto the wall."

 

“Whenever I played with my neighbor’s little girl, I did not want her to leave me alone. Her smile filled my face with yellow, framed by chestnut hair sweeping over the gaps of her missing baby teeth. Even so, it didn't mind when I painted it as jealousy—jealousy of another boy that played with her, after my father forbade me from doing so."

 

"The blue I saw was like a sapphire glowing in a cave beneath a grotto of skin. It glowed brighter in my veins when my father slapped me for coming home dirty from school. It seemed content when I painted it on a distant lighthouse, guiding the squirrels in the green meadow toward peace and tranquility."

 

"They used to blend together on the wall in front of me like a large painting. 'Don’t worry, you won’t feel the pain from your father’s abuse; hide with us, for you are our closest friend,' they said, smiling at me with their almond eyes. 'Don’t cry, you will heal if you keep our little secret with you.'"

 

Struggling for breath, he interrupted with difficulty:

- "Colors have a secret? What is it?"

 

With a soft smile, the blind man pointed his cane to the center of his chest and gently tapped his heart:

• "Yes, their secret is right here... In your heart."

 

"My heart?" he mocked, his voice hollow. "It’s about to stop, sir... broken, betrayed by the colors. Just go on... I'll listen to the rest, then be on my way."

• "I promised not to tell anyone, and I was a child confident in my words. I brushed the wall with my fingers, wiped a small amount of it on my face, and radiated with them—my forehead, my mouth, my small nose, my eyelids, and my chubby cheeks. My heart fluttered with joy, as they protected me and made me laugh.”

 

The breathless man replied, “and here they are, blinding and betraying you just as they betrayed me... right?”

• "No, I returned home one day to find my father panting heavily, his eyes ablaze with orange. The place was silent, and I couldn't find my mother. As soon as he saw me, I fled into my mother's room in fear. Only to find her lying on the floor, drowning in red, her face black and blue…"
• "I asked the colors on my mother’s body, ‘Why did you make her sleep? Is she hiding with you? Did she keep your secret like I do?’ But they didn’t answer. They weren’t like the colors on my bedroom wall. They were quiet... and they smelled horrible."

 

• "My cold feet shook as I made my way to my room. Fear gripped me as I clung to the wall. As my tears kissed the colors, I cried out, 'Is she with you?'"
• "The black shadow my father cast across the wall erased all colors at once, like a well swallowing everything whole."
• "He yanked me back by my hair, his saliva dripping onto my forehead, his breath crashing into my face. His bloodshot eyes glared at me. ‘Who are you talking to? The wall?’ My heart was about to burst. I stammered, ‘C...c...c-colors.’"
• “He belted out laughing, a loud and ugly yellow laugh, as he grabbed my chin with his rough hands saying, ‘What’s this color called? And this one? Do you know these colors are evil? Didn’t you see them on your mother’s body?'"
• “I screamed with my fear-ridden voice, or what was left of it, ‘No! The colors promised they were kind... They promised to protect me!’ At that moment, my father, like a vengeful demon, roared, ‘I assure you, you’ll never see them again!’”

 

After hearing the blind man’s story, he fell silent, bracing himself for what was to come.

- "Yes... hatred and anger stripped all color from me. Do you know why the colors disappeared? Now, let me ask you, young man... do you love them?"

He stammered suddenly, "Me? N-no, no!"

As his consciousness faded, he whispered, "No, no..."

The blind man repeated the question, “Do you love them?”

Barely coherent, tears streaming down his cheeks, he whispered:

- "Yes... I do, I do love them."

His heart thundered violently against his chest. Colors flooded the room in a sudden burst, only to vanish in seconds.

The blind man looked at him trembling, and gently caressed his head...

- "You must speak again, young man."

- "I love them! I really love them!” he exclaimed, “When they greeted me, I fell in love with words and the clouds, and with their smile, I fell in love with the rain!"

 

Soon after, the sky opened, raining down on his near-lifeless body, washing over his eyes, as his lashes grew heavy with droplets. He looked up again and saw a black cloud. He couldn’t believe it at first—could love have brought the colors back?

He looked ahead, but the blind man was gone. Instead, his cane lay on the road, still its old dark brown, resting beside the green grass. It was then that he understood: the secret lay in keeping his heart alive with love. No matter what came, he would not let anything take that away from him again.