GREY

Liora stood at the edge of town, where the road ended and the forest began, and watched the sky remain unchanged.

Everyone else had also arrived.

They stood facing east, wearing coats and blankets. Old people used canes to help them walk. Babies slept on their shoulders. The dogs were quiet too, as if they knew something the people didn't. Nobody understood why.

All the while, the sky over them remained a steady grey.

Not overcast. The sky over them remained a steady grey, not dark as a storm. It felt vacant, as if someone had attempted to obliterate it, only to lose interest halfway through.

That went on for twelve years.

Liora was sixteen, so most of what people said "before" was in other people's mouths. The apples were red. The grass was green. The water was blue. They said it like a prayer they didn't believe in anymore.

It never did work.

Her mom said that every mirror in town went black for three seconds in the morning; the colours went away. The world returned without any vitality. Paintings turned to ash. And flowers to paper. Blood became something unrecognizable. People behaved in unique ways. They yelled, prayed, and fought, but everyone got real since they still had to fold laundry at the end of the day.

Liora, one of the lucky ones, didn't remember any of those times.

She did know yellow.

“Yellow,” she said, “tasted like honey that had been warmed up and loose teeth.” When the sun came up, it fizzed in the back of her throat. She laughed and then explained what happened. No one believed her at first.

And then they trusted her too much.

"Have you gotten anything yet?"

Mayor Pell stood too close, and his voice was careful, as if he were afraid of breaking something he couldn't see. He had brought half the town before dawn because Liora had tried something new in the well water the day before.

Blue.

The water was as cold as a coin.

She said, "Not yet."

He let out a breath. People around him moved—wool sleeves, restless feet, and the sound of hope trying not to fall apart.

Her mom put her hand on her shoulder. "Don't push it."

"I'm not."

She was.

People had been coming to their door all night. Water in jars. Dead leaves. Blankets for babies. Rings for weddings.

Do you know how this tastes? Do you hear that? Does it feel like something?

They looked at her like people who are hungry look at bread.

Liora shut her eyes.

In front of her, the forest breathed. Bark. Wet dirt. Cold air pushed against her ankles. Nothing unusual. Nothing is bright. The usual waiting for the sun to rise in an empty sky.

Someone began to cry.

Soft. Embarrassed.

"I told Mara this was stupid," Mr. Venn said, his voice breaking familiarly.

Nobody answered.

Liora opened her big, blue eyes.

The horizon brightened as the grey became a lighter shade. The famous miracle: water poured into water.

Yellow came, but it wasn't forceful. A dull fizz behind her teeth. A sweet memory is better than the thing itself.

"I'm sorry," she said.

The words didn't work.

Her mother's grip got tighter. "You don't have to be."

But she did. Everyone had given her their last hope, and she had nothing to give back.

People started to look away.

The forest rang out.

Liora stopped moving.

It started as pressure, like a bell waiting to be struck deep in her ears. Then it came back, higher this time, clearer, and bright enough to make her jump.

Green.

Not a flavour. A noise.

It moved through the trees like a violin string pulled by invisible hands. Liora grabbed her mom's wrist.

"Hold on."

The mayor turned around. "What is it?"

"Don't move."

There was something in her voice that kept them there.

The noise got louder.

It came from all over: leaves, branches, and roots that were deep in the ground. It built up until Liora could feel it in her ribs. Not too loud. Not sharp. Just going up steadily.

A tuning orchestra under the world.

"What is it?" her mother whispered.

"Green."

A boy laughed quickly and didn't believe it.

After that, the first leaf changed.

Just the tip—it's barely there. A flash. For other people, it might have looked like brightness.

It sounded like a door opening to Liora.

The grey came off.

Under it, green.

Really green.

Wet, impossible, and alive.

It spread quickly, jumping from leaf to leaf, racing through branches, and sinking into the grass. It was like fire, but instead of eating everything, it left life behind.

People were shocked.

The babies woke up and cried.

Okay.

Liora laughed, but it made her choke because the sky had started to laugh too.

Yellow came over the horizon.

Not weak right now. Honey, sparks, and summer flooded her mouth. She stumbled, and her mother caught her as the sun rose quickly in the sky.

The grey ripped open.

Pink, blue, and gold.

Liora's first taste of gold was thick and warm. Pink smelled like rain on warm stone. Blue settled on her tongue: cold, ringing, and never-ending.

People yelled, cried, and laughed, calling colours by the wrong names but not caring.

Someone yelled, "Red!"

"That's orange!" another voice yelled back, already crying and laughing.

Liora looked at her mom.

Her eyes—

Brown.

Nobody had told her that brown would feel like bread crust and safety.

Her mom put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, my girl."

Liora ran her fingers over her face. Crying. They were clear and normal, but the sunlight caught them, broke them apart, and changed them into something more.

The world wasn't empty for one perfect, fragile moment.

It was real.

Liora stood barefoot in the dirt at the edge of town, where the road ended and the forest began. For the first time in her life, the sky turned to face her.