The color red is all I can recall from That Day. Red running along the walls, red staining my soul, and red flowing through my veins to my heart. I glance around me now and I'm surrounded by white. This piercing, clean white. The red threatens to overtake me though.
My family was murdered about a year ago, when I was eleven. I guess this means I'm almost twelve now? The days of the week, the weeks of the month, the months of the year, and the years of my existence crawl by at an excruciating pace.
The murder occurred in the year of 2047 as women, men, and children fled from war into my country. Bombs dropped; nuclear radiation spread, the world being killed off more quickly- us humans have never been of the clean sort. The government had decided that a perfect country was needed. Therefore, all citizens with disabilities were not necessary and were killed off, or they tried to 'fix' them. Whether the handicap be physical or mental, all were hunted. This hunt included me.
My brain had always worked in colors; emotions, tastes, sensations, and people all being associated with a certain color. When I had been happy, everything turned to shades of yellow, yet when sad, my world became a place of shadows.
I had to be hidden from the government for fear of being taken. My family and I hid beneath the bunker we had built underneath our house without knowledge of the government, immediately making us criminals.
I daydream -or dream, because I can no longer tell the difference- about the day my family died. The killer appeared as if from the dust swirling around the room, holding a knife in my mothers heart. My poor family unable and unwilling to fight back. I only watched as the red took me over, slowly consuming me. Red is not a merciful color, it leaves you long enough to watch your entire family be killed in front of your eyes before you pass out. I woke up screaming for my parents, my sister, and my grandmother, shrieking loud enough for all those around to hear me through the thin layer of concrete and dirt surrounding me. The police were soon upon me and I was taken to a doctor, still unable to form a coherent sentence, and diagnosed as mentally insane. I was taken to an all white room, at first glad to be free from the red, but soon disappointed, for the red always finds its way into my life. This white room served and still serves as my sanctuary and prison. I think I've been here a year, but there is no true way to tell. It may be only a week since That Day, maybe I'm going insane and I'm losing my mind.
Soon after I was taken into this prison, a small window opens in the wall that I didn't know existed until now. A voice called to me saying, "Come here boy, I only want to ask you a few questions". The singsong and seemingly friendly voice belonged to a shadow of a woman. I cannot tell what she looks like, how old she is, or if she is actually friendly. She had the kind of voice that hides emotions and opinion. I walked over to the screened window and I'm asked, "Do you know where you are?" I thought and all I could see was white, so I responded with only "No." Next she asked, "Why did your family hide you?" I replied, "so I would not be caught". I was then left alone for a few days, I guess, but I am not sure.
The next time I was visited, other than the food and pills that were quietly slipped through a flap under my door, it was a mans voice that greeted me. The deep, guttural voice claimed to be the doctor that prescribed my pills to me. He slowly, agonizingly explains each pill I was given and how they would fix me, yet I sensed no difference in myself from before I had taken the pills. I did not know why I was being given medicine as I expected to be killed soon after I had been captured, but I guess they had decided to try and fix me first.
For several months, I think, I had no visitors. I went through the daily cycle: random intervals of sleep, food, pills, then sleep again. I dream and daydream, for there is no longer any contrast between the two. I dream of blurry memories. Happy, yellow ones from before That Day and the red ones that are That Day itself. I think of the killer. I imagine how I could have stopped him from killing my family, how I could have saved them all. I think of why I am still alive, instead of them. How if only they had defended themselves against their killer, they could have moved on and forgiven themselves. I had expected to remember their faces full of fear and contempt towards their killer, but instead I seem to remember a sense of sorrow and hopelessness that took them over. That's the last memory I have of my family before the blackness took me over.
After I had become accustomed to the blanket of white that had first overwhelmed me, I began to appreciate it. I lost all sense of self, time, and where I was. All I possessed were my red memories, I could not even be sure that I owned my mind any longer.
As a year almost passes, I receive a visitor. I awaken from my daydream of yellow times to find several men have appeared at the screen, yet no longer is there a screen, only clear glass. These are the first people that were not only silhouettes I have seen since That Day. They are all adorned with fine clothes, showing that they are important members of the government. The gold they wear almost blinds me; the only color I have seen with my eyes since That Day is white of my room and the red in my imagination. The man who seems to be in charge, who wears the most gold, begins to speak to me, saying, "Boy, what is your name". I try to respond to his question, but when I attempt to speak, only a quiet squeak comes from my throat. I forget that I haven't spoken in almost a year. Next he asks, "do you know why you are here!" -I guess my name wasn't very important, as he probably already knows it- once again I try to answer his question, but to no avail. This seems to go on for hours, though it may have been only thirty minutes. I expect him to become angry with me for my inability to answer his questions, but just like my other two visitors, he shows no outward emotions.
After his final question, they leave me alone once more with my thoughts. The white room seems to be shrinking, slowly consuming me and my thoughts. But the red fights back, the memories unable to be contained. I am the source of the red. Escaping from every pore in the body and seeping into the white, infecting it. The red and white clash in my head, leaving no room for yellow.
The frequency and size of my meals decrease, along with the pills I had been taking. I expect to be killed soon. They have finally given up on 'fixing' me.
I'm awoken by the sound of a door opening. I had been dreaming once again of That Day. But this time, everything seemed clear. I view myself and my family, them sleeping and me lying there awake, unable to sleep. I feel this feeling. This true darkness. A complete black. It takes me over entirely, and I am unable to fight back against it. I finally see what had truly happened on That Day. I realize that the black has never been merciful, but instead hid itself behind a false smile. It drags you under, pretending to be a savior, but it is only a traitor.
A large man in all black enters through a door I never knew existed. That there was a way out of this white room was unknown to me, until now. The man takes me by the arm, dragging me out of my white existence and farther into the black and red. The white no longer puts up a fight. The black has finally reared its head and showed its true self. The red tries to stand its ground in my head, but the black takes all over. I go through several dark hallways and the shadows seem to glare at me, because they know.
Walking slowly, we reach a large, black door. It is opened before me and I feel as if I'm walking through the gates of hell itself. I'm blinded by the sun, the first light I have seen since That Day that isn't made by man. The sun reminds me of yellow memories, yet now they are tainted, bittersweet things. I see in front of me a hanging tree with a single noose dangling from its welcoming branches. I seek its comfort, so that these memories may be taken from me.
I see many people around me, the dead and the living; they are all the same. I receive blank stares from those about to witness my death. No anger, no sorrow, and no joy. Only a gray, the color I fear almost as much as the black. I see my family standing there also, my mother just staring at me as if she never even knew me. I try to resist their gazes as the darkness consumes me even further.
The man who is to move the stool, the last thing between me and death, moves towards me. I see in his eyes death and even more gray. He will be the one to deliver me to the steps of the afterlife. The doors will be eagerly awaiting my arrival and will quickly shut behind me so that I may never escape my fate. The man is now only steps away from me.
As he moves towards closer to me I realize that I not only fear death, but also anticipate it. I deserve all the punishment this world has to offer, for I am a killer. I murdered my family on That Day. I had allowed the darkness to consume me and take me over, and with this consent I also gave away my body to it for it to do as it pleased. And it desired blood to run through my hands and soul. I am a murderer and I accept my fate. I shall finally repay my debt to death. There is no 'fixing' what I have done, for there is no way to turn back time. The man removes the stool from beneath me and I breath my last; the black finally has me.