Colourful Words

“Pardon me, Miss, but we’re closing in ten minutes.”

I had my head down, my nose in a book (its usual place), so I didn’t notice the librarian come up behind me. She didn’t mean to startle me, of course, but the sudden voice in over three hours of silence nearly made me jump from my skin.

“Oh!” I gasped, juggling the book I had been holding. It nearly fell from my lap.

The swirling, maroon-coloured words I had been reading sunk from the air, falling back down into the book, lying themselves amongst the pages once again.

The worker chuckled gently. “Sorry.” She smiled. “I just wanted to let you know.”

I nodded my thanks.

The librarian moved to leave but leaned back and put her hand on my shoulder, getting my attention again.

“That’s a good choice, by the way.” She said with a wink, pointing to my book.

Of course it was a good choice. It was a classic!

We smiled at each other, and she shuffled away, her head turning left and right as she passed by every aisle – she was checking for other stragglers, like me.

I was quietly relieved to see that I wasn’t the only one left. There was a handful of students left, and they all had different coloured words above their heads.

One boy had bright orange words circling his head in a gentle cyclone. He was reading a history textbook.

Another, younger boy, was reading a book with his head resting in his hands. The purple words were agitated. They leapt off the page and shot into the air from all sides, bouncing off each other, and the boy’s head, before disappearing into thin air. He was struggling to read Shakespeare.

Two ladies were reading the same book. They both had green words floating in a gentle wave above their heads. They were thoroughly enjoying reading their philosophy textbook.

Looking around me, I saw the gathering of words on the ceiling – a vivid heap of purple, aqua, navy, crimson, maroon, yellow, orange, green, and indigo. They began to slowly disappear as the books they came from were forced closed.

It always made me sad to watch them disappear.

Now, the fluorescent lights suddenly seemed to be too bright, and my eyes had a dull ache to them. I had been reading for quite a while and had lost track of time. Turning towards the skylight I was shocked to see that the sun had gone down, and it was now late in the night. Raindrops covered the window.

A few remaining sentences hung below the skylight, occasionally changing as their reader continued to read, despite the ten-minute warning.

With a sigh, I stood. Stretching my muscles awake, I grabbed my bag, my umbrella, my water bottle, and my empty coffee cup. I picked up the book I had been reading and looked at the cover one more time.

Maroon-coloured words, “‘Dracula’, Bram Stoker” rose up over my head.

The few people that were on the balcony with me began to pack up, and the remaining words on our part of the ceiling had disappeared. I frowned; it made the world so much duller.

The river of readers flowed out onto the street, clogging up the already crowded corner of our small university.

The world was dark, despite the lights that seemed to glow from every building. The rain caused reflections on the street, and glare off every window, car, and neon sign.

Occasionally, words would pop up over the crowd. But they’d be plain. White. In boring fonts.

“Jackson Hall”. “Park Street”. “MacIntosh Library”. “Robinson Road”. “Douglas Park.”

They were names. People read them off the signs as they finally found their destination.

The words didn’t last long and didn’t linger like the words in a book. They’d pop into existence and pop out as quickly as they came – like a poorly blown bubble.

As I continued down the street, I noticed that multiple people seemed to glow in the dark. Their faces illuminated by their cell phone screens.

It was hard to see, but every time one of them passed a lit window, I saw the tiny, black, not entirely formed words bounce into place above their heads. They wouldn’t stay long either. About as long as a thought, or however long it took for the reader to scroll onto the next post.

At the end of the street, I came to our Mess Hall. The words “Cooper-Wallace Mess Hall” bounced into existence above my head and then disappeared as soon as I stepped inside.

A large bulletin board greeted me. It was littered with various posters from the different faculties. Brown words appeared above me as I read a few of the posters.

“Wanted: Tutor for psychology mid term”.

“Needed: Willing participants for clinical study.”

I moved on.

Down the hall, to the left was our Mess. It was busy, even at this time of night, and the air above people’s heads was littered with ordinary, beige words such as “Cheese quesadilla” or “Caesar salad.”, “Gluten free”, “Vegan”, and “Vegetarian”.

I went to the area under the cloud of “Gluten Free” and found that my option was “Gluten Free Pizza. Pepperoni, Cheese, or Meat Lovers.”

I chose two slices of pepperoni and went to find a seat in the dining room.

Before I sat down, I stopped by the water pitcher and poured myself a glass. Beside me, a woman had the names from the soda machine options floating above her head. A few of the names popped up twice as she tried to decide. At the end, she decided against all of them and grabbed the water pitcher after I had set it back down.

Scanning the room, I saw the air was filled with various forms of squiggly, not-fully-formed, black writing as almost everyone was on their phones.

However, I did see a single colour in the sea of black. Orange. A few History majors were sitting on the far side, orange words slowly rotating above their heads.

I went and sat with them.

Without bothering them, I pulled out my chair and settled into my seat. The orange words continued to drift up from the page and circle slowly above their heads. They were reading about the first sack of Rome.

Starting to eat, I tried to pay no mind to the black-worded crowd. However, one girl caught my eye.

She was leaned so far over her phone her forehead was nearly touching the table above it. Her eyes were wide and glued to the screen, and she scrolled very determinedly. The black words that she read were not formed in the slightest. They were scribbled, and so blurry they barely resembled letters. But they would still float from her screen to the top of her head, and then settle into her hair like an oil spill. The words fell over her eyes, literally blinding her, but she still scrolled on.

I watched her until she had finished reading, and she fell back into her seat, seemingly horrified, and exhausted by what she had read. The words still slowly dripped off her head, and over her eyes, crawling down her cheeks until they were in her agape mouth.

That’s when she turned to her friends, leaning over the table and slapping one hand down between them so they would look up from their phones – the words above them instantly vanishing.

“Did you hear what happened?” She gasped.

The others shook their heads “No”.

The girl proceeded to tell her friends that her favourite music artist was involved in a drug scandal somewhere in the South and was arrested.

Her friends, who seemed skeptical, instantly began to search on their phones whether the story was true – black words appearing above their heads again.

Eventually, they concluded that the story was indeed false, and the oil-like words disappeared from over the girl’s face, but were replaced by a deep, embarrassed blush as she pushed her phone away.

I turned back to my meal and noticed that the boy sitting closest to me had put down his book. The orange words above his head were fading slowly as he took the time to think about what he just read.

He groaned tiredly, running a hand over his face, and sipped at his coffee.

“Long day?” I asked with a smile.

He nodded, the words above him were gone now.

“Studying for my final mid-term.” He said, putting his cup down.

I had finished my mid-terms earlier that week, which was why I had been in the library reading Dracula.

“Are the words sinking in? Or just bouncing around up there?” I asked, teasing slightly.

He chuckled. “I think they’re sinking in. It’s hard to tell at this point. I’ve been up for 20 hours.”

I nodded. To me, it appeared that he understood the words well enough. But only he could know for sure.

He shook off the exhaustion and turned back to his book. The words came off the page a little slower now.

I finished my pizza, and cleaned up glass and plate, setting them down by the sign that caused the bright red words to appear above my head “Place dirty dishes here”.

Heading back out onto the street, I worked my way down the hill to the bus stop.

I passed by the museum we had on campus and heard music drifting out through the windows.

It was an art museum, filled with paintings, sculptures, and carvings from local artists. Through the window, I saw a crowd of very nicely dressed attendees mingling among the art pieces. They were having a soirée to welcome a new exhibit.

Above several of their heads I saw swirly, silver words appear as they read the names of the art pieces.

I hummed along to the music as I carried onwards to the bus stop.

More brown words appeared above my head as I checked the schedule.

“Bus 1219 – Kingston Circle – 11:30PM”.

Perfect! I hadn’t missed it.

I settled down on the bench and waited, watching the world, and words, around me.

Most of the words were black, and messy.

But I saw a glimmer through the blackness, and I couldn’t help but to stare at it.

The words were trapped under the roof of a moving car. The passenger was reading something quite frantically.

The driver screeched into a parking spot, and the passenger threw himself out, speed-walking towards the door, words flying into the air above his head as he speed-read.

I had never seen gold words appear above somebody’s head before. I had seen almost every other colour, but gold was a new one.

I watched as the man walked from his car, towards the doors of the hospital that stood across from the bus stop. He was reading from a folder. It looked, to me, at least, like a patient file.

His partner that was driving the car called after him, and he turned back, grabbing his bag from her outstretched hand she held out the window. The gold words sparkled brighter as he turned back to the folder in his hand, and a massive smile came to his face.

“Patient is in remission”.

He jumped for joy and let out a cheer, throwing his hands in the air. It was the same sort of cheer you would see if your favourite team won the playoffs.

“He did it!” He cried happily.

His partner let out an equally happy yelp and got out of the car to join the man in jumping for joy.

“He did it! He did it! He beat it!” The man shouted to the world. “He’s going to be okay!”

I couldn’t help but smile. Their joy was contagious.

The light that came off the golden words lit the entire parking lot, and everyone that passed in that moment, seemed to shine a little brighter themselves.

As I stepped onto the bus, I took one more look at the golden-worded man.

He had crouched down, his hands clasped above his head, his eyes closed. His partner also had golden words circling her head now, she was reading the file.

But as the bus pulled away, the world fell dark again. In the dim light of the display board and the phone screens, squiggly, black words floated above the people’s heads once again.

I could have joined them, of course. However, instead, I opened my backpack and pulled out my book – adding just a bit of colour to the darkness.