Gray

It is the color of the walls, the color of your clothes, and your bed. It is the color of your friends, acquaintances, and strangers. It is the texture of the cold hard floor as you stare up into the empty space above. 

It was the color of the letter that you received in the mail last year, the color of the suitcase, the plane. It was the color that descended on your life the moment you stepped out of the airport. It was the sound of the instructor’s voice, the stick straight backs of your friends, acquaintances, and strangers. It was the color of your bed frame, sheets, mattress. It was the color of the picture in the picture frame beside your cot. It was the color of the metal tins of beans, the taste of the beans. It was the color you saw in your friends eyes, acquaintance eyes, strangers eyes. It was the color of the loudspeaker. It was the color of that day.

It was the color of the bullets as you loaded your gun. It was the color of the mud beneath your feet. It was the color of the monotony of it all, of the sounds in the distance. It was the color of your orders, the color you leaned into. It was your safe space. It was the color of comfort, it shielded you from the cold against your skin, the weight of what you had to do, what you were forced to do.

It was the color that descended over your unit protecting your friends, acquaintances, and strangers. It was the color that was spiked with tension in the air. It was the color of the small people you could see through your scope. The color that weighed down on your finger, urging you not to shoot, urging you to come home. It was the color that settled over the battlefield. It was waiting, it was patience.

It was all you could see as the silence finally broke and the bullets whizzed back and forth between the two fronts. 

It was all that was left in your fellow soldiers’ eyes as they fell one by one into the mud below, their posts abandoned and their uniforms soiled. It was the fog that plumed from your rifle as you took your shot again, and again, and again. I was the color that blended into the background creeping closer and closer to your group… or what was left of it now. Only about ten still stood shooting into the distance unaware of the enemy behind them until it was too late. 

It was the color of the handcuffs that bit into your skin, that restrained you… not that there was much left to restrain anyway. It was the color of the van that they shoved you and the rest of your group into like cattle along with the rest of your supplies, food, weapons. And it was the color of the mud that covered your fallen friends, acquaintances, and strangers as the van drove away leaving them in their mock burial site on foreign land.

It was the color of the day, the day all hope was lost, the day you were sure you would never see her again. Your baby girl, your daughter. 

You remember the day you left she was crying, crying because you were the only thing she had, and she, the only thing you had. You promised her you would be back, that you would not let the war take you, but look at you now.

It is the color of the walls, the color of your clothes and your bed. It is the color of your friends, acquaintances, and strangers. It is the texture of the cold hard floor as you stare up into the empty space above. The path that you walk on, the food you eat, the water you drink. It is the past that you came from. The hopelessness that controls your future.

It eats at everything, and it is everything.

It is the color of your life, of your eyes, your hands, your feet, your clothes. It is the color that consumes you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. It crushes you pushing in and in and in. But it is not the color of you. It can’t be the color of you.

It is the color of the mist, of clouds on a stormy day. But the mist has parted, the storm is passed, and in its wake it leaves something much, much worse.

Red

It is the color of the megaphone that summons you to the dining hall. It is the color that flashes through your eyes, if only for a second. 

It is the color that has been brewing in you, deep inside. It is a color, yes, but it is also a monster. It is the color that you kept at bay for the longest time. It is the color that has eaten away at your inner walls. It has stewed inside you for years, and years… waiting. But it has run out of patience. It rebels against your humanity, screaming and shouting inside of you. It pushes and shoves its way to control, taking and taking, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake. 

It is the color of a raging bull, of a tidal wave, of the storm after the calm. It catches you off guard, you thought it had given up, everyone thought it had given up. It is the color of revenge, and it’s about to make some people pay. 

It unceremoniously takes control, causing you to stumble. No one turns your way, they all keep walking forward.

It is the color, dried, on the side of the wall. It is the color of the angry flowers growing on the walk despite the concrete in their way. It is the color of the pulsing in your skull. It is the color of the gnawing rage in the back of your jaw. It is the color reminding you of all who have wronged you.

You hold it back if only through your hesitation. It stops and thinks, giving you a second to catch your breath as you sit on the cold hard bench. You stare at the slop on your tray, a pitiful excuse for food and you feel it surging inside of you again. It takes control but you don’t fight it, maybe it can get you out, maybe it can get you free, to your home, and to your daughter. It signals to the flame inside the other, a call for help, a call for action.  

It is the color of blood, of anger, of rage, of revenge. It is the color of fight, the color of war. It is the color that guides those who have been wronged, who feel attacked, who feel wrath coursing through their veins. And you, you feel wronged. You feel spited, attacked. And most importantly you and all the others feel wrath coursing through your veins. And like a fire catching on tinder it grows, and grows, and grows. 

You look at your friends sitting beside you, you see the color in them too. And in the spur of a moment altogether you spring up alight with fire. You all act with purpose and swiftness without even a glance beside you, without even a second of hesitation. Your action sparks others, and like a ripple effect everyone in the mess hall is inflamed. The guards raise their guns but are overpowered by the sheer number of inmates. 

It is everywhere, it fills your skin, the air, the floor. You feel it overpowering your senses driving you forward towards the door ignoring your pleas to stop. 

It calls to your friends and to the rest of the mob. It steals your voice, screaming Move! Move! Move! It drives your shoulder into the door blocking your escape again, and again, and again. People join you pushing the door as well.

It is the color of the splintering wood. It is the color of people toppling on top of you. It is the color of your head hitting the floor, of the warm rush of metal as your teeth slam into your lips. It is the sound of people shuffling off the ground alight with adrenaline. It is the heaviness in your walk, not of hesitation but of rage. It is the color that carries a bit of hope, hope of your daughter, for your daughter.

It guides you to the control room, as it tramples guards and workers in your way. It leads you and your makeshift army to the console room and begs you to force the door. You oblige raming and raming, again and again.

It is the color that announces over the loudspeaker, giving you one last chance to back down. And when you don’t, it sends waves and waves of troops. And one after another people begin to drop. It starts at the back, with the ones farthest from the door, they are slowly taken falling to their knees or on their backs in uncomfortable positions that make you wince as you hear them drop. 

It is the color that pools from their skulls creating a small puddle filled with limp bodies. Despite the makeshift barricade that was slowly forming, people continued to fall. The gun shots crept closer and closer gunning down the people behind you and your friends next to you until you were the only one left.

It is the color that shoots through your whole body, starting first at your back directly adjacent to you beating heart, it is the color that blooms from that one point until you collapse. It is the color that leaks out of you leaving you drained. It takes all the warmth and humanity you have in you as it leaves.

It takes your anger, your vengeance, your will. It takes your energy and life. It takes your soul and leaves you, an empty shell, free for something to crawl in.

This, you, your life. It was never something to be thrown away. And you still have a job to do. You will get out even if it’s the last thing you do.

Purple

It is the color of purpose, of pride, of power. It is the color that fills you with strength as you pull yourself up. It whispers in your ear, guiding you, teaching you. This time there are no gunshots, no pushing, no sea of blood. 

This time it is just you, it, and the door. It is the color that, like a snake, slithers through the crack in the heavy protective metal blocking your entry, blocking you from completing your goal. It is the color that teaches you to get what you want, to not let anything stand in your way. 

You move to the control panel in an almost dazed-like state. You pass many workers, people who have wronged you, people who deserve death, but your focus is singular as you move closer and closer. No one stops you as you push the button and insert the key that you had swiped somewhere along the way.

The doors open, surprising a great deal of people and causing chaos amongst the ranks. As they scramble to close the cell and prison gates hundreds of people flood out stopping their ascent. 

You smile and bask in the brilliance of the chaos as you walk undisturbed right out of the cage which has kept you hostage for years. The cage that you finally had the courage to break out of.

Freedom never tasted so sweet.

Green

It is the color of the grass underneath your bare feet, the sound of the tweeting bird. It is the color that rushes through you, replacing all the nasty ones, as you spread your arms feeling the wind against your skin. 

It is the laugh that sprouts from the bottom of your chest, moving its way up slowly as you double over relief washing the years of dirt and grime of you in an instant.

It is the way you flop on the ground admiring the sky for the first time in a while. It is the color of hope, and it is the adrenaline that rushes through your system making you feel jittery.

It is the trance-like state that you find yourself in as you almost float to the airport and board a plane. You take your seat, in your dusty army uniform that brought back memories, memories from before. 

It was the feeling as you threw your old prison suit in the trash, the relief, if only brief, as you put your uniform on, at least then you were representing something you stood for.  

It is the giddy-ness as the plane lands, your excitement to surprise your beloved, your life and soul, your daughter.

It is the color of the trees as the light passes through them, following the sun as it makes its lazy trip across the sky. The color of the cool forest air as it fills your sinuses, the sound of the occasion car that passes you on your, the taste of a fresh apple pick along your leisurely walk.

It’s almost as if you never left, it smells, tastes, looks, and sounds the same. The gravel pavement of your cabin along the edge of the woods, the way it crunches beneath your feet, it is all so familiar.

It is the color of the key you pull from your back pocket, the one you always kept with you, a reminder of happier times. 

It is the color of the plants that line the coffee table near the entrance, the pillows that frame the sofa.

It is the color that feels the most familiar to you, like a memory. 

Yellow

It was her favorite color. 

The color of better, happier times, of smiles, of spinning in a field of sunflowers. It was the color of her favorite dress, maybe it still is. It is the color of her hair, her favorite food. The color she was wearing when you left her.

The color of her car as it pulls up to the cabin. It is the color of her essence, her spirit as she flows up the stairs. The color that fills you from the bottom to the top as you giggle like a child behind the couch, just out of site. 

It is the color of the scrunchie in her hair as she opens the door, its old rusted hinges squeaking upon contact. The color that radiates from her as she steps into the cabin, you notice her wearing the sneakers you gifted her before you left, you remember decorating them with little painted flowers and trees, you hope you can do that again together.

It is the color of her freshly painted nails as she reaches for the remote, flopping down on the couch. It is the color of her flowy pants that remind you of a circus tent. The color of her many bracelets that jangle together as she turns the television on with a click of a button. 

The TV powers on pulling up the news as if it knew exactly what you needed to see, but not what you wanted to. Even your daughter seems confused with the sudden progression yet she allows it to happen placing the remote down carefully instead of changing the channel. 

The female announcer comes on introducing this story as recent news made only of light to them moments ago. The announcer seems mornful but in a respectful, detached, way. She opens by refreshing the viewers of the current war going on and the sheer amount of people currently suffering as prisoners of war. 

“Unfortunately a recent tragedy has occurred at one of these holding cells, on our opposing side. A breakout caused by rioting prisoners has led to multiple deaths including the death of…”

No, wait. That’s not right.

It is supposed to be the color of light, of warmth, of bittersweet memories that leave you with butterflies in the stomach.

Not this.

Blue

It is the color of drowning, of the rushing in your ears, the sinking feeling in your stomach as the ground swallows you whole. It is the color that seeps from the woman’s voice, the color that consumes your daughter as the remote falls out of her hand clattering to the floor. It is the color of the batteries that bounce from the impact. The color of the shards of plastic that chip off, nicking your cheek. 

It makes the room spin around the two of you, it makes your heartbeat pound. You check your pulse, an old childhood habit you thought you had kicked, it’s faint and fast, barely noticeable doing little to console you.

Your heart beats, your world spins, as your daughter stands there in shock. You go to comfort her, through her shock, your shock. But you stop in place, the sinking feeling is back.

It is the color of unimaginable grief, of tears, of oceans, of the dull throbbing pain akin to an angry bruise. It steals your breaths replacing them with a salty saline solution leaving you gasping whether you like it or not.

It is the anguished cry that escapes you and your daughter from deep in. A primal scream filled with only pain, shock, grief, and tears. 

It is the color of loss. Loss of family, loss of friends, loss of acquaintances, loss of strangers who you could have known but will never get to. The loss of your daughter, the loss of you. 

It is the color that rips through your heart as you scream, and scream.

It is the color of failure. Failure to yourself and failure to your daughter.

“… including the death of the soldier who led the outbreak. We will forever mourn your sacrifice. After his death the damage sustained to the area around the door and area of the control room in the prison was enough to trip the circuit for the mechanism that would allow all doors in the facility to unlock and open, freeing many hundreds of prisoners of war. Even during the ongoing war the military has released a statement declaring their goal of retrieving these personnel and returning them back to their family. This soldier’s sacrifice will be a win for our whole nation.”

It is the color that comes crashing down on you, wrapping you in a blanket of impossible size and darkness.

Black

It is the color that you find yourself submerged in, like the night sky, or an endlessly deep ocean.

It is the color that you stay with for the longest, mourning and reflecting over your life, over what you did… and didn’t do.

It is the color of death, of endings… and of lies.

White

And I am the color of life. The color of beginnings. The color of fate. The color of stories. I am the color of rebirth. 

I drove you here, to this point.

This… was not planned, but I see now.

Remember, you still have a purpose, a meaning, a soul.

You were special, my friend.

Your story… was unfinished.

It will never end, truly.

Not then.

Not now.

Not ever.