The First Hue

CW: Brief mention of blood and violence near the end of the story.

I folded the flaps of the box over, covering the same product I’d packaged a trillion times that day. I brought the tape roller over the top, shutting out the sealed care packages with the same grating ripping noise. I put the box back on the conveyor belt, where it would finish its mundane process and eventually be shipped out to every house in the city.

499, I silently counted, watching my box make its way through the rows of people for a moment. One more package. Then it’d be back home where I could resume staring at my plainly colored walls, the same shade as here at work. I held out my hands and stopped my next package from rolling past.

I brought my hand over the flaps automatically. But something caught my eye that made me break from the autonomous cycle. It was probably nothing. A speck, probably just a deep shade of the charcoal black that coated every other package in the factory. Still, he hadn’t seen a problem with any of the last five hundred boxes, nor any of the thousands he’d packaged in his career.

Curiously, I slipped the box under the conveyor belt. An eyebrow raised from my neighbor. “Defect,” I muttered without emotion. He shrugged and went on with his work. A bored employee stood behind me, ready for his shift. I allowed him to take my place, holding the box close as I moved out of the way.

Down the melancholy halls I went, pausing as I passed the inspection office. I knew I should have turned in the mistake. Reported whatever malfunction with the ink machine had undoubtedly occurred. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know why. It was no big deal to give up my finding. But then again, surely it would be no big deal to hold onto it a little longer. Oh, how wrong I was.

I made my way home. People strolled past, the same ones I saw every day on my way back from work. No one deviated from the schedule. Everyone made an effort to follow the same footsteps they’d walked each time they went to and fro from work. Sure, they always could. But there was no reason to. Why inconvenience yourself with trying something new when the most efficient path had already been predetermined for you?

Maybe that was why the box felt so heavy in my hands. There was no rule against taking things from the factory, except that it was undoubtedly different. And different was something everyone tried their hardest to steer clear from in Wellshire.

I made it to my home in three minutes flat. The same as every day. Sitting down in the dining room, I laid the contents of the package across the table. The speck came from the bristle of a toothbrush. It turned out to be more than a speck. It engulfed the entire brush.

It was indescribable. A deep shade of- what exactly? Far too light to be black, or even grey. It was immensely different from the white that colored most of my house. It was bright, blinding almost, though it didn’t burn my eyes the way the white light of the sun did.

But more than that. It was addicting. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Such contrast from the walls, the chairs, the lights- from everything. It was… different.

Three raps on the door jolted me out of my seat.

“Mister James Kirkland?” A deep voice as cold as the sea called out. It was as if the words were a death sentence. Something about that coldness told me something was messed up. Really messed up.

I scrambled with the items on my desk. I had to hide whatever it was I was staring at. I threw the box into the corner of my room, and frantically placed the other care package items into random drawers in the house. But when the time came to hide the toothbrush, I couldn’t. I knew the costs. But my mind was so addicted, so obsessed with this substance, that I couldn’t bear the thought of losing it, even for a second.

What is wrong with me? I thought, hyperventilating. I’d never seen whatever this was until today, and already it’d consumed me.

“”James?” The voice rang again, like a clock striking my final hour. “Would you open the door for me?”

The voice belonged to the mayor himself. My mind swirled with questions. Why was this so hard? Why did I even bother taking the box in the first place? But above all- how bad had I screwed up if the mayor was already here?

“It’s no longer a question, Mister Kirkland.” The mayor threatened. “I’m ordering you to let me into your home.”

I couldn’t utter a word from my mouth. Get a grip, I forced myself to think. It’s just a toothbrush. But then why was it so unique? But something about it, no, something wasn't different at all. Familiar. Once, I knew what this was. It was rich, deep, soothing. It was beautiful.

“That’s it, James.” He grumbled from the other side of the door. “I’m coming in. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

The door fell through and landed with a resonating Thud. I cowered stupidly over my precious object. “It’s mine!” I screamed out in a desperate, clawing, voice. I hadn’t known where that’d come from.

“What’s yours, Mister Kirkland?” He asked in a faux sweet tone. “You caused quite a stir on the way home today. Bringing something home from work is very different. Surely a smart man like yourself would know that?”

I grimaced. Obviously, my stunt would have drawn attention. Why hadn’t I cared?! Why was that stupid speck so important it had to endanger me? I’d better give it up right now, I resolved. Maybe I can still get out of this mess without punishment. Every muscle in my brain willed my body to give up the brush. But nothing budged. I couldn’t let go. My eyes still devoured the sight of the relic.

“Can’t- have- MINE!,” I choked out, possessed by my obsession to keep hold of the brush. I tightened my grip further as the mayor slowly advanced on me.

He placed a hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. All I noticed was that an escape would be a lot more improbable now.

“Now, now. Who ever said you had to give anything up?” He chuckled softly. “That’s your first mistake, James. How was I to know you had anything I wanted?” He purred in my ear. “Of course, now I’ll have to see what you're hiding.”

I spun around to face him. “NO! LEAVE ME!” I fell back into the counter. The voice wasn't mine. I’d never lost my temper- nor had anyone else in the city for that matter. This not-shade was surely killing me. But something told me I couldn’t live without it.

I hadn’t anticipated his quick reaction time. The brush was snatched out of my hands. And that’s when I truly lost control.

I wildly clawed and scratched and fought against the mayor. Guards swarmed into my house. Before long I was pinned to the floor, the toothbrush dangling in front of my eyes.

I greedily soaked in the rich appearance. What was it?

But then it was yanked back up as soon as it came down.

I pulled up against the men pinning me down. Despite using all of my energy, I remained firmly locked to the floor.

I heard the sick voice of the mayor so where behind me.

“I think that provides sufficient evidence, don’t you three? It’s working. They’ll do anything for a taste of color.” He pointed at one of the guards that was holding my right arm and leg to the ground. “Put him out. He’s been exposed- we can’t release him back into Wellshire.”

I screamed when the needle squished into my arm.

***

My wrists were bound tightly to a plastic chair. My head ached, my muscles were sore. People paced around the room. I kept my eyes shut tight, trying to regain some composure.

“He’s come to,” a serious voice said. I squinted to see two people crouched over me. Suddenly, one of them grabbed my eyelids and held them open. “Look at the pupils, Ron. He’s seen it. It’s time to initiate the experiment.”

The man, Ron, nodded. All the suited figures exited the room in an orderly fashion, leaving me alone, strapped into the chair.

I saw them gathered around a control board through a thin wall of glass. They flicked a couple of dials up. The lights intensified, blinding me. I shielded them from the harsh light, until it finally went away.

And then I opened them again. All around me, the toothbrush substance exploded in dots and flashes against the white walls. I stood, open mouthed, at the beautiful scene playing out. It was different from the brush. There were hundreds of different variations. There were those close to each other, and those that looked like total opposites. But it was that same beautiful, bright, substance I’d seen on the brush every single time. What is this?

“Color,” a speaker seemed to answer. “You’re witnessing color, Mister Kirkland.” The room began to morph into the shade the brush had been in. “This,” it said, “is red.”

I was stunned as more and more ‘colors’ flashed past. ‘Orange’, ‘yellow’, ‘green’, ‘blue’. Each time, I’d wished it would stay just a minute longer, only to be equally impressed with the next. I was shown dozens, only to be told there were millions more.

And then it went back to white. The same thing I’d seen every day, at work, down the street, in my bedroom, whilst dreaming. “Turn it back on!” I demanded.

Like the red, it was all addicting. I began to loathe the white walls surrounding me. They suffocated me, reminding me of my mundane life. They reminded me of the misery I’d felt doing the same thing over and over again every day. I’d been fine with it then. But then, I had nothing to question. Now, everything was so much clearer. This white was taking away the joy of seeing the vibrant colors I’d been teased with.

I ran up and started punching the walls with everything I had. “Please!” I yelled, banging in the glass. “Bring it back, bring it back!” I began sobbing, longing for the embrace of the warm sights I’d momentarily seen.

The speaker roared back to life. And then a door opened, with a shadowy figure standing in front of a blinding light. “Fine.” The speaker answered. “But,” it added, “this man has stolen your color from you. If you want it back, it’s there. All you have to do is eliminate the obstacle that’s depriving you of this color. Isn’t that what you want?”

I looked at the man. His facial features slowly came into focus. He had a scraggly beard, and large, pleading hazel eyes. He was scarred and looked like he would barely put up a fight.

I hesitated. The man certainly didn’t seem like he would steal something so wonderful from me. But then again, wouldn’t anyone try and steal something so great? And why should he have it when I don’t?

Without any further thought about any sort of morals, I pounced on the man. I dug my fingernails into his skin, ripping and tearing where I could. He never resisted. I finally pulled myself from him, gasping. Had I really just done that? All for what, color?

“Very good, James,” the soothing voice called from the echoing speaker. “As promised.”

The color came back on like a switch. I could suddenly see the walls were painted a gradient of orange and yellow. There was a beautiful brown flooring under my feet. The man and my hands were covered with beautiful, rich, red. I think red is beginning to become my favorite color.

I was so entranced by the sights, I didn’t even care that the suited people had left the speaker on for their conversation.

“He went through with it,” a woman said.

It was a man’s voice next. “So. Is it time? They clearly have no limits. It’s an animal-like urge for them.”

“As good a time as any,” the woman murmured. “Then it’s settled. I want a speck released in every box. Get the captors into position in the color rooms. Tomorrow, we have our army. Winning the war will be nothing after that.”