The Meaning of Grey

The curtains that hung from the ceilings were a simple grey. Not the silver that sometimes comes from the moon’s light at the right angle. Nor was it the dark ash that comes after the fire has burnt too low in the hearth. A plain, simple, everyday grey. The sort of grey that suggested a life half-lived at best, a poor melancholy resignation to oneself. Dreary and drab, the curtains dimmed the already dark room. The isolation reflected in the grey of the—

They were cheaper. Or maybe the author just needed to pick a color for the scene and felt like grey. Or maybe he flipped a coin or spun a color wheel, and it landed on grey. Or maybe…

—fabric as it hung limp. They were unmoving, and strong in appearance, sweeping to the floor. It felt as if the very air itself had given up in the room and perhaps even in the very souls of those who had chosen the material.

Or maybe there wasn’t a fan in the room. Clearly, there is a need for one here to get better airflow.

Suddenly, the bright red door leading into the space opened. Perhaps the vibrant red was representative of a past or childhood trauma, or the rage that was simmering slowly from within. Or the true passion needing an opening, an outlet, an—

Or maybe, it’s just good Feng Shui. I read red doors can be considered auspicious. We don’t know what sort of stuff the owner might be into!

—an exit! The air felt suffocating as he walked into the room—heavy, pressing in, and slowly weighing him down. He couldn’t breathe. The weight filled his lungs and settled on his shoulders.

Have you considered opening a window to get rid of that stifling air? Really, if you’re not going to invest in a fan, that’s the least you can do. That sounds like a ventilation issue, not a symbolism one. This can also lead to mold, did you know.

If he had to pick a color to describe how he felt, it would be black—

Oh great. Black mold. The worst kind. Might as well begin drafting that eulogy. Black like the dresses that will be worn at the grave, if we don’t open the window. Seriously. Open it! I promise you will feel much better afterwards.

If he had to pick a color—

Pink? Green? That weird yellow? Still mold. Also, I definitely think we are going to die in this room now.

Please stop… I’m trying to tell a story here. Can I just finish the story? Thanks.

Anyway, if he had to pick a color, it would be black.

He had had a long day, and sat back in his green chair. He was waiting for her. He turned towards the window and bathed in the warmth of the sun. The sun began to lower itself in the sky, turning the horizon into a spectacle of red, orange, yellow, and soft pink—

So… a sunset? Unless this is some kind of astronomical anomaly. In which case, we should probably be concerned. Also, what is with all these colors?

Would you prefer something else? Crimson. Azure. Onyx. Phlox.

Stop. Stop. Wait—what is phlox?

It’s a pink-ish purple. Look it up. Or don’t. It’s basically just a really nice pink. As I was saying—

The sun began to lower itself in the sky, turning the horizon into a spectacle of red, orange, yellow, and soft pink, until the sky at last opened up like a blossoming flower under the dazzling sunset.

Okay. Now we are just being ridiculous. Also, good. Thought we were about to die again.

He was considering whether to reach out, maybe open the window, and breathe in the salty air. That was when the red door opened again, just like the red in his heart.

Or—hear me out—just like a door. Doors tend to do that sort of thing, you know. Open. Close. With good hinges, you shouldn’t even notice them. The creaking thing is more of a sign of deterioration than good plot.

They stared into each other’s eyes. His were a deep green, and hers a nice warm brown. The longer they stared, the more she realized his also seemed to have a hint of blue as well. The green and blue were a clear reflection of the multiple parts of his soul and personality, that she would soon learn as they drew closer.

Has she considered that he might just have heterochromia? Or maybe the author just couldn’t decide what eye colors were pretty and decided a mix. I hear multi-eye colors are back in for the main male character. Maybe they are just trying to jump onto the trend.

Later, they decided to stroll down to the water together. The ocean was a glowing shade of deep blue.

Of course it’s blue and deep! It’s the ocean. Have you ever been to the ocean before? Or even seen a photo? If it wasn’t blue, I would be concerned. It would mean some overgrowing algae or an oil spill or The Great Pacific Garbage Patch.

For a moment, the waves grew more restless, crashing harder against the shore. The water churned and pulled, growing unpredictable and shifting much like the uncertainty that lingered between them. But still, they stood there. Together. Holding hands, they knew their relationship would be alright.

Should you really be this close to the water if it’s acting up like that? That’s usually a sign to leave and come back another day. Or call someone. Coast Guard. NOAA. Maybe someone with scientific charts… I don’t know. Someone who knows what they’re doing. Literally anyone.

For once, neither tried to explain it nor what they felt. Not the slow smoothing of the waves, nor the way the light seemed to soften everything it touched, as the sun continued its final journey into the horizon. There wasn’t any need to name it or give it a definition. The feeling simply was.

At last, the ocean calmed. The small waves rolled in and out, flowing naturally with the tide. They left streaks of white and grey foam against the grainy sand. The last light of the sun reflected across the water, turning it gold, like sparkling crystals.

Alright… alright. I get it now. Not everything has a meaning. I’m just going to sit back, relax, and—

Actually, that one did have a deeper meaning. Carefully chosen to represent the upcoming opportunity and the hope for a better tomorrow.

Aww, come on!