The Next Shade: Gray

The Narrative Continued by Claudia

"All right everyone, you know what to do."
I stepped down off the tailgate of the vehicle and lead the way to the house, a small cottage-like place with gray smoke rising from the pale chimney.
Knocking on the door brought an attractive young woman to the door, a small child suckling in her arms. She didn't look happy to see us. I was amused with the fact that our feelings were mutual.
"What do you want?" She asked, obviously sleep deprived.
I signaled the man next to me and he snatched the child.
"Nothing now, thank you."
"What are you doing!" She fought back for the child, screaming for help. The pathetic figure groped wildly for her son, her fingernails snagging and breaking on the uniforms of my Saints. All would break against them, for all were brittle as cartilage. They would heal eventually of course, though the same could not be said of their children.
"Next house!" I ordered, glancing back at the childless woman. I was glad I had never grown to look like her, a pitiful heap crying in the doorway. Life was so much better in Neverland.

The Narrative Continued by Robert (A Serving Saint)

I left the woman in the doorway, weeping for her child, clawing for it like an animal.
"Jason, give her a sedative; that'll calm her down." Jason nodded and pulled a rag from his pocket.
"Next House!" commanded the Savior.
I went next door to 124 Asher Street. Knocking brought no one into frame. I looked in the garage; a car sat in the parking space.
"Got a non-compliant. Move in."
My men broke through the side windows as I kicked in the door. Screams from the inside confirmed that someone was home. I went down a short hall and found the woman, a rotund thing sitting lazily on the couch, eyes wild with confusion.
I grabbed the child from the crib next to her, the light from the television reflecting gray images in his dull eyes.
The mother wailed, struggling to get up.
"I'm sorry ma'am, it appears as though he was born with syn."
"But he's just a baby!" Her vocal cords cracked and failed her. She pulled a pistol from beneath the cushion, training it at my head. Jason knocked it to the ground with a sharp kick, breaking the woman's wrist. She cried out with pain from both mind and body.
I clasped the child to my chest and ordered the men out of the house. Jason made the mother inhale a sedative as I exited with the crying child. Gray glass crunched beneath my feet. The house was a wreck. Lace curtains were torn during entry, tables overturned by uncaring Saints, glass and graywear left shattered. But the house of 124 Asher Street was not only wrecked cosmetically, the household itself had been destroyed. The future generation had been stolen; its nurturer left broken and dumb.
I would send a cleaning crew in the morning.

The Narrative Continued by Jason (A Serving Saint)

The engines roared in our gray vehicles. The first three units took off toward the station to change Jeeps and uniforms to match the next District on the list.
Clinton started the engine of our transportation and called for Robert and myself. It was unwise to stay for very long, others might get the true story in circulation before we could fabricate one of our own. Word of mouth was still a nuisance; one I don't think the City can ever take care of completely. People break the law of God to gossip, if eternal punishment isn't enough to persuaded them otherwise, I don't think a City law would either. They were smart to leave that issue along, smart to instruct us to be careful, rather then shut the people up. Oppressed people riot; deceived people see no reason to rise up. It's a proven fact. Though I have to wonder what the City doesn't tell me.
I made for the Jeep.
"Robert, we need to move!"
He was standing blankly, staring at some kid across the street. Just starring at him. Maybe he was worried the boy saw something?
"Do you want to take him too?"
He turned his head toward me, not taking his eyes off the kid, "No. He's too young. He won't be a problem." There was sadness in his voice, like he wanted to bring the kid with him, but wouldn't. I guess he missed his own kid. He was dead. Robert needed to move on.
Finally his eyes left the boy, clasping the wailing child tight. He positioned himself in the back seat. I climbed onto the back fender, holding on to the support bar and knocked the side of the vehicle with my boot. Clinton nodded. The motor revved and we moved on.


The Narrative Continued by Knox

The Serving Saint starred at me, holding the infant tightly against his chest with one hand, the other stood ready at his side. What were they doing with these kids?
I took note of his female gloves; one had a tear, making her older. He would replace them with a fresh gray pair; they weren't something I could track for more than a day. I looked for another defining feature but found nothing reliable. Clothing never is; people change it too often. So I studied his face.
Another saint got into their topless gray vehicle, an older male; something I could track. A third exited the house, he ran towards he Jeep then stopped, "Robert, we need to move!"
Robert didn't move. I wondered why he was so interested in me. The third Saint walked over to him, saying something. Robert tilted his head in his direction, not breaking his stare, and answered. I couldn't make out what they were saying from my distance. He held my gaze a moment longer than retreated with the child.
The old, male cab started up. The baby wailed with the engine.
There was much weeping in the Gray District, many clear tears running gray.
I raced to the apartment. Something was happening.

The Narrative Continued by Hector

Claudia entered the room. "Come now, Hector, it's time for your testing."
"I've passed every month. Why test again?"
"Because," she said matter-of-factly, "you are an excellent liar, and I don't believe you."
Both statements were true so I dared not argue. I would just undergo testing again, however unpleasant it was.
I stood up slowly and followed her out of the cramped room, careful not to collide with the sharp edges of the single gray table.
Down through the hall we went, passing the large window into the Gray Room; people filing in like pilgrims, forlorn and without hope, soon to be tested by myself. But only if I passed my test.
The window vanished from sight, dark gray concrete taking its place as we continued down the short hall into the testing room. The flat screen on the wall was the only source of light. There were no windows, no other doors, nothing to look at but the screen, a blank image of backlit gray.
Claudia locked the door tightly behind us. This was the room where rules were broken.
She set a silver microphone stand on the small table and motioned for me to sit with a curt nod. She adjusted the microphone's flexible neck and seated herself at the opposite side of the table; facing me, her back to the screen. She would not watch.
"Whenever you're ready," she said, pen and pad in hand.
I took an inaudible breath. "Ready."
She clicked a gray switch and the violet letter 'G' appeared on the screen, saturating my vision with color.
"Red," I spoke into the microphone as quickly as I safely could. I could hear the tape recording beneath the table.
The next letter appeared on the panel, the red letter 'A'.
"Purple," I said, lying with a degree of difficulty. I could not answer too quickly, for without giving myself time to process I might very well spew the synesthetic colors instead of the ones appearing on the screen.
"Green. Indigo."
But at the same time, if I responded too slowly Claudia would know that I was covering up. I had to be consistent with my other test times as well.
Blue. "Orange."
Yellow. "Violet."
My timing had to be perfect. My life depended on it.
Green. "White."
Black. "Brown."
It was becoming steadily harder to keep pace. The task was mentally exhausting. Colors flashing, Claudia glaring at my, owls' eyes watching for any hint of struggle or deception.
Red. "Black."
Gray. "Green."
A red letter 'A' appeared on the screen. I hesitated. "R-Red." Claudia scribbled down a note. I clinched a fist beneath the table.
Colors appeared. I named them falsely.
White. "Indigo."
Violet. "Black."
I could feel my body temperature rising. I could only pray I didn't start sweating. Claudia turned the page in her notebook. She had run out of writing room.
Blue. "Gray."
Red. "Yellow."
Finally the letters stopped and the screen returned to gray, underwhelming my eyes. Claudia finished scribbling down a note, the last words scratching onto the lined, gray paper. Safe, quiet gray.
I stood up.
"Sit down." She didn't look up from her paper, but continued writing.
I obeyed; confused, but striving to cloak my bewilderment.
She clicked her pen shut and set it down, then smiled, like a saleswoman or sadistic executrix. In a way, she was a little of both.
"There will be a new portion of the test this time. "A yellow square appeared on the screen. "Identify the colors as quickly as you can. All colors will appear as squares."
My God. These results would be paired with the others. There was no way my reaction times would be the same.
"Begin now."
She would know.

The Next Shade: Red

The Narrative Continued by Ryan

I walked through the gray streets and adjusted the charcoal frames of my glasses. I would have worn contacts, but my eyes were too muddled for that. They have yet to produce a high enough strength. I stopped for a moment and looked up at the sky, the sad, gray sky. At least I didn't need my glasses to see that; there was no detail to behold in its massive estate, just a single color. I took off my specs and closed my eyes, positioning my head towards the sun. My eyelids glowed gray from the inside. The warmth felt good. I turned away and opened my eyes. A gray mass was slowly headed for me. I returned the glasses to my face, manually focusing my eyes.
I cursed. It was a Serving Saint's vehicle.
I looked down at my clothes: all were shades of gray. I thought I had been careful this morning.
"Excuse me, sir," said a Saint, hopping down off the platform in the back of the cart. "You are in violation of this District." The vehicles came to a halt along side of me, the Saint who was driving, Darien, eyed me with sour recognition.
"This one's trouble, Alex," he said. "A colorblind."
"I prefer the term monochromatic," I replied. "Sounds classier. More illegal."
"You think it's classy to break the City's Ordinances?" asked the man I then knew as Alex. He was a Saint new in service, and at 6 ''3 I didn't want to get on his bad side; but I couldn't help but be sarcastic.
"Well that depends on which rules are broken."
He started to say something, but Darien beat him to it.
"Don't waste your time with the disabled, just take the scarf."
I cursed again, this time merely in my head. It was a shame to lose the scarf, a beautiful, finely knit piece in a true gray shade. But sadly it does not comply with the dress code of the Red District. I would have to wait at least a week before I could pick it up from the Savior's office.
Alex stripped me of the scarf. Cold air attacked my neck; I pulled my collar high.
He handed it to Darien, whose greedy fingers caressed the thick stitches.
"What a nice piece," he said, his voice blended with a sarcasm that rivaled my own. "I may have to keep this one." He dropped it into a bag they would call red and sealed the top.
"That's illegal," I stated.
"So are you."
"But there are laws that protect me. After all, I am disabled."
"Those laws should have been overthrown a long time ago. You colorblinds are nothing but a nuisance. Even those with dichromancy are a pain. They should all be driven out like Synners." His last words were meant to be cutting, but I found his knife to be dull. Through it seemed to spark Alex's attention. I noticed his look of enlightenment.
"You think I'm a Synner? No, I'm merely monochromatic. Not quite that gifted."
"And I'm suppose to take your word for it?"
"It's not like you can test me; so yes."
"There is a Synner's test; and I have half a mind to send you to the Gray Room to take it." He took a step closer to me. "I have a feeling you'd fail."
"You're test is color based, comparing reaction times for identifying colored letters. Of course I would fail."
"That wasn't the test I was referring to,"
"Alex," said Darien, warning him with his own name. I prodded. Perhaps this Saint knew something of interest.
"Oh, really? Which one, then?"
"The experimental one." This was interesting. "The one where xenon gas is injected through your blood stream and monitored as it travels into your brain's metabolism. It's not at all safe, but since you're a willing volunteer..."
I didn't like Alex. He was more of a brute than Darien.
"But if I'm a synesthete, wouldn't you want a more docile test? I mean, how could a dead man open a safe?"
That set him back.
"You know of the safe?"
I nearly laughed at his reaction, "Many know of the safe! It was in ever paper of every District. Don't think that all have forgotten."
The Serving Saint starred at me, searching for answers.
Darien broke his gaze, "Come on, Alex, he isn't worth another minute." He turned his speech to me, leaning out of the passenger's window, "As for you, I've got a close watch on you. A few more slips like these and I'll have a case for synesthesia. Understand?"
"Of course."
Alex got back on the platform. I called to him as they pulled away, "Be sure to tell me how that testing goes. You do know all Serving Saints have to undergo it, don't you?"
He sent me a look from Hell. I smiled and walked on, hoping never to see that gray face ever again.


The Next Shade: Yellow

The Narrative Continued by Marilynn

I crossed the line with many others, flipping my jacket and removing my stockings at the Crossing.
My feet ached, glowing with a dull saturated orange that seemed to stain the soles of my shoes. I was many blocks away from the Printing Press. I wished I had a vehicle of some kind. They were far too inconvenient though, for changing its color was highly unpractical and renting a bicycle was far too expensive. I sighed. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and just get things done. Taking a breath, I started to walk yet again. Twenty minutes later I found myself in front of the gigantic building. Inside, the sights and sounds of the large printing press overwhelmed all six of my senses. The machine was massive, and looked like a mass of tangled scaffolds and ramps. Yellow pipe-works crisscrossed like hollow bone; bolts larger than my head holding them together. It was a symbol of ingenuity, a signet that reminded all what man was capable of.
The center of the beast was a relatively small cube-like room, walled with aged yellow metal. That's were the Printer arranged the paper and told the machine how and what to print. Each District had it's own Printer and it's own Printing Press, and each press told different stories by different reporters. I had looked through much of the archives in the other Districts, but had been waiting a while to see the papers held here. Going to every Printing Press and viewing the archives of every colored page, one after another without a pause would be suspicious.
The cutting a slicing sound of the paper cutter engaged my synesthestic perception, swift arrangements of blue, dark on the bottom, light at the top, sweeping top to bottom in direct parallel to the guillotine-like knives. The slamming of the printed page made a jagged, disorganized black that was darker then ink from the Black District.
The Yellow District had the greatest mass of archives, and their reporters were known to be the best and most accurate. The people of this District cared more about the currant events and news than did most other Districts. I had high hopes for the archives and was quite anxious to see the golden pages and yellow, age darkened ink.
Despite a factory-like appearance, there was a front desk with a pleasant young man behind it to assist me. I informed him that I was researching the weather change over the past decade and wished to see all the papers from that time. The gentleman was, unfortunately, interested in my self-proclaimed study and in order to keep up appearances I prattled about the weather until we reached the archival room. He opened the regular sized door (seeming so small in comparison to the other doors for trucks and delivery equipment), soon to lock me behind it.
"Just let me know when you're ready to come out." He said with a smile. The door closed and I heard the heavy bolt fall into place, a resonating brown echoed in and out of existence, fading slowly in the quiet room, living longer than it should have. I didn't like being trapped in a room of any size, but was grateful that the archive room in the Yellow District was the largest of all archival rooms. The ceiling was high and darkened the room, giving it a hushed feeling that even the bright yellow filing cabinets couldn't speak against.
I headed for the section on the first Year of Red. While the papers only recorded happenings from their own Districts, the fiasco with the Synner and the safe was large enough to persuade the pens of all. With hope I would unearth a clue to the mystery that haunted both Synners and Saviors alike.



The Narrative Continued by Shane

We walked through the District for no reason other than Alison needed the fresh air, and I needed the fresh color.
I knew the only way Alison was going to apologize to her sister would be if I persuaded her to do so. It was something that she needed to do, and something that she knew she should do, but it was plain that she wouldn’t on her own. Even if we were broken, it would be better to stand together with all our chips and broken pieces than to leave each other to the dust.
“Alison.”
“Yes.” She knew what was coming.
“You need to apologize to Marilynn.”
“I will do nothing of the sort.” She tried to sound firm, but I knew her too well. There was always water beneath the hard ice, however cold it was.
“And why not?”
“Because she has no right to treat us the way she does, she has no right to act as our mother when she is only our equal. We are both sisters, regardless of her age or mine, and we ought to be on a level plane.”
“We could spend endless time talking about what should or shouldn’t be, how things should or shouldn’t have been, but that will get us nowhere. Living in the past is like living in the grave, once time has past it has died, it is still and will never move again.”
“If the past is pointless, then there is no need to express regret on its behalf.”
“The past is not pointless, don’t act any more foolish than you are, but in death nothing can change, there is no going back, there is no making up, but time itself is not dead, and through life things may still be mended. There is life in this minute, Alison, but only for sixty seconds. Heal this while you can.”
Her movement jerked a bit, like she wanted to stop but decided better of it. I knew my words had gotten to her. We walked in silence a moment longer and then,”
“Very well, I’ll apologize when she gets back tonight.”I knew there was water beneath the ice, but like I said, it was still cold.

The Narrative Continued by Alison

I hurried out of the alley, feeling my way with my cane, inhaling the colors of those around me. Blues, reds, oranges, greens, blacks. So many colors, so many people. I felt them brushing along side me; coming in close, pushing past me, shoving me out of the way. Tossing me like a piece of drift wood. I used my cane to steady myself, regaining a strong footing and pace, parting the waters like a Saint. Counting my steps I cut through colors, ignoring them and expecting them to move. Some did; others had to be pushed. Like myself a moment ago.
Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four.
I stopped and turned to my left.
One, two, three...
We had rehearsed this countless times: Twenty-four steps out of the alley, sixteen steps to the left. Shane would meet me there with Esther, and (if everything had gone as planned) Knox would be with me. But we couldn't let a small tarnish ruin the entire work. We would have to work around it.
I searched eagerly for Shane's color. Through the mists I saw a hint of gold. Two steps later, I felt his hand in mine. We walked without stopping.
"Where's Knox?" Shane asked.
"He choked. I sent him back to the apartment. How's Esther?"
"I'm okay," she said, her voice steady, but stressed. Her color was very close to Shane's.
"Have you told her the plan yet?"
"Yes. She knows what to do. Have you seen Claudia's color yet?"
"No. She's hiding in this mess somewhere."
I strained hard, trying to pick out as many colors as possible, senses peeled for that cream colored demon. This was a foremost a kidnapping, an attempt to steal her away from the Saints, as she stole me away from the Synners; but on a secondary level it was an intelligence mission. Esther would touch her, stealing the woman's color into her mind, saving it for later use. Knox would have taken note of her invisible markers as well, committing the gender and age of a jacket, shoe or bag to memory. In any case, we would have the upper hand.
There!
"Shane, I sense her."
"Where?"
"To the left, the sinister side."
"Okay, I see her. Esther, get her color and get out of here, understand? Touch her hand and go."
"Alright," she answered, and the green haze floated past me.
My body quaked with excitement nearly sadistic in quality, my mind already pumping out ideas of torture. We were so close to having her, so close to righteous judgment. Vengeance reached out her hands.

The Narrative Continued by Esther

The comforting blue left my hands as I again tore off my gloves. The flurry of colors returned to me, shocking me with brilliance.
I saw the little girl Shane had pointed out, she was heading in the opposite direction. Shane and Alison seemed so far away now. I was alone with this killer, and I could only move closer to her.
I followed her from behind, struggling to keep her in sight, too scared to overtake her. her long blonde hair bobbed through the green-clad crowd, shiny and well kept. She looked as any other girl, ducking beneath adults, shifting through their legs like sand through a filter. But there was something very different about her. Her step was powerful, her pace determined, every glimpse I caught of her eyes were as the essence of white. She was evil. But I had to touch her.
I held my breath and lengthened my stride, catching up to her. I pulled a small teddy bear from my jacket pocket, a light green plush no bigger than my hand, the soft fur a pale brown to my synesthestic sense. I reached out and grabbed her palm, bringing her to a halt as I bent down.
"I think you dropped this, little girl." My heart was tearing through my breast, trying to break out.
"It's isn't mine, wretch." She tried to yank her hand out of mine, but I held it fast. The color was smooth, a purple shade that screamed its power.
"But, I-I saw you drop it. Here."
She stole the bear from me, slipping her hand from mine, whipping around to her previous task. Just then, Shane swept across from the left and took her up in his arms. Clasping a hand over her mouth.
"Esther, go!"
I fled.

The Narrative Continued by Shane

Claudia bit my hand like a shark, drawing rich red blood from my hand, staining her white teeth and sage coat. I held fast and burst through the sea of people, trying to break free of their waves. I held her feet in check, but she convulsed her body like a fish on the cutter's board. Her grinding teeth sunk ever deeper into my hand, the sawing motion of her jaw butchering the meat of my hand. She was an animal.
No one paid us any attention; kidnappings were commonplace and not the problem of strangers. They needn't worry with someone else's child.
I spotted several Saints from the Sage Gate exiting the crowd as I did. Turning I covered Claudia with the fold of my jacket and redirected my course, nearly bumping into a man now in front of me.
"Excuse me sir, you are in violation."
A Saint.
Blood dripped from my hand in steady flow behind my jacket, drops of red pooled on the green cobblestone. The Saint dropped a green rag over the spot, covering the color, wiping it with his dark, green leather boot. I glanced back behind me; the other Saints had adjusted their bearings, stalking this way now.
"You must excuse me," I stated. "My daughter has dementia, she doesn't recognize me."
"I see," said the Saint, a older man with a pale face, wrinkled and scared. "But you understand I cannot allow you to leak that color here."
"We are making our way out now; I'll be careful not to bleed." Claudia fought with all strength, nearly exposing her face. "We really must hurry home before she hurts herself."
A crazed, muffled scream came from beneath my jacket, her feet kicking wildly outside of it. I nearly lost my grip.
"Allow me to give her a sedative. You can wrap you hand up then, and the both of us will be happy. How does that sound?"
I clocked the time in my head, colors passed as I counted. Alison would come looking for me if I didn't hurry.
"Most excellent," I replied, sounding as cooperative as any Saint.
He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, his pale face hidden by the wide brim of his hat. I glanced back over my shoulder. The other Saints were hidden. They must be close.
The Saint pulled a small glass bottle and a pale rag from his pocket.
"Let me see her face."
There was no time for hesitation. I took in a breath and held it, pulling Claudia into view.
"Hello, my dear." The Saint shoved the rag into my face. I kicked the bottle out of the pale Saint's hand, shattering the glass on his jaw, saturating his face in the sedative. He staggered to the ground, consciousness failing.
A pairs of arms grabbed me from behind.
"Take the Synner!" he ordered, gray overtaking his eyes.
Slipping my foot behind the leg of one attacker, I threw my weight behind me, setting him off balance, crushing him with my weight when we fell to the cobblestones. The breath I had held escaped me, but I dare not take another. Rolling off the man I swung Claudia with all my strength across the face of the second Saint, her feet snapping his neck to the left. I heard a crack and Claudia cried out. I may have broken her foot.
A hand reached from behind, pressing a rag to my face, jabbing my spine with a blunt tool. Reflex forced me to inhale. I staggered, fighting the black that overtook my eyes, and the liquid feeling that morphed my muscles. With a final burst of strength I threw Claudia at the Saint. My energy back-flushed and my body went limp. Black stole over my sight. Alison...

The Narrative Continued by Alison.

I let out a yell and brought my cane across the skull of the first lively color. The fog moved into the background of my sight. I heard a body crumple to the stones.
Shane's color was dull, so was the orange haze next to him. Without turning I jabbed the cane beneath my arm, straight back. It sunk into something soft. The man's gut. Turning, I swung the metal pole downward, striking something hard: the back of his head. The metal pole rang out, singing an enraged dirge. I whipped back around. Red met me there.
"Marilynn?"

The Narrative Continued by Marilynn

"We have to get out of here. Now."
"But Claudia--"
"Is gone, she'll bring more Saints when she returns. We have to get Shane out of here, now!"
Shouting amplified my pain like nothing I could think of. My head throbbed with deep red color, saturating every thought with severe discomfort. My breathing was shallow, a clean rag over my face. The chemical smell of sedative in the air, fogging my thoughts. I couldn't get enough oxygen in my blood, and my body wasn't shy about letting me know.
I pulled a bottle from my coat pocket. Kneeling by Shane I unscrewed the thin metal top. My fingertips ached with the task. The mind is the worst thing to be injured. It makes everything else hurt along with it.
Dipping a rag with the solution, I pressed it over his nose. He stirred.
Standing up brought a fresh wave of red pain, a brighter shade filling the inside of my head. It was as if my blood had been turned to dull tacks, every one of them rushing to stick my brain. Synesthesia illuminated many veins in my head, each one inflamed with red. The phantom colors were as angry as I was.
"Help me lift him up; he won't be able to walk himself home."
Alison didn't argue, not this time.




The Next Shade: Red

The Apartment

The Narrative Continued by Alison

My sister was clearly angry at us.
I had known her long enough to realize the consequences of my actions, but she was fully ready to inform me all the same.
"What you all did jeopardized everything we have worked for." I thought that was a bit over-dramatic, but I didn't say anything. Her color was raging.
"Not only could the Saints of the Sage Gate have taken you had they seen you dumping me in the garbage bin, but you put Esther and Knox in danger by trying to catch Claudia."
The name made my insides burn.
"Now, I understand that you want to catch her, I understand that you want to pay her back for what she took from you," --she didn't understand, but I let it by, knowing that nothing good would come from arguing with her. In her mind she was always right-- "But what you did was reckless and immature. Shane was almost taken! I still can't believe you dragged Esther and Knox into your plan."
That was too much.
"So you can drag them into your plans, but we can't ask them for help with ours?"
"Do we not have enough to worry about with the City against us that we have to further divide ourselves?"
There was no winning this argument. My sister knew this, but she challenged me to the unfair fight anyway. I started to speak again but realized that I had nothing more to say.
I shut my eyes but I could still see her color. Blast. At that moment I didn't want to see that shade of color ever again. I held my breath, not inhaling another pheromone. The colors slowly faded from sight; lonely black taking ground in my mind. My lungs began to burn, their fire burning whatever oxygen was left there. I was forced to breath again; the colors returning with each breath.
So my gift became one that I would like to return.

The Narrative Continued by Marilynn

My sister was exasperating. I would never be able to wrap my head around her or her ways. At least she was being quiet now. I knew she was seething, but if she wants to act that way, who am I to stop her? Let her pout. She was the one in the wrong this time, not me.
I put my hand to the bandage on my head. The cut still hurt badly, the wound still red to my eyes, though the color had subsided a bit, losing territory to the healing endorphins.
I narrowed my eyes at my sister, knowing she couldn't see the act of dagger throwing. I nearly laughed at her being blind. The thought amused me, but I quickly slapped it away. What a horrible thing to think, and about my own sister no less. I needed to find a handle on my anger and pull it to a stop.
"But enough. What's done is done. However horrid the deed there is no going back to reverse it."
"So what now?" asked Shane, rewrapping his hand with red bandages. Somehow I found it hard to be angry with him. I guess it was because he was the only one I could trust, or at least he always had been. I imagined him more the victim of my sister's plot than one of the plotters. I knew he was too smart for that, but I needed to think this way. Even if he had planned the whole thing from start to finish, I don't think that I could afford to be angry with him.
"I have another lead. This one comes from the archives, so there will be no trickery." There was still an edge in my voice, though I had already decided within myself that I would drop it. I suppose my tongue had made a different decision.
"What do we do?" asked Knox.
"We are not going on this outing. It's a one-person job, just research. I'll handle it myself. I don't need the riffraff this time."
My sister jerked back a bit and I knew I had stabbed her. I shut my mouth, not ready to apologize, not wanting to draw another knife. The next moment was awkward; no one said a word. Alison gripped the edge of the table.
"I'll be back before dark." I traveled briskly from the kitchen feeling horrid. Walking into my room I pushed the feeling as far from myself as I could. Now was not the time for feeling. I stopped at that thought, my arm halfway reaching into the closet. How dare I think that way? I sounded as a Saint. A cold, wicked Saint.
It seemed the intent of those around me to make me as cold as they are. And by the way I was acting their frost was sticking.



The Next Shade: Green

The Narrative Continued by Esther

I walked home, thinking about the things that had happened that day. It was so confusing. Alison and Marilynn always had their little disagreements, but it was never so severe, so intense. I don’t know what I’d do if it happened again, if I would chose the same side. I would probably ask Shane, and pick whatever sister he did.
I let my hand fall down into the thick ivy that coated the short wall by my side, the cool leaves felt good against my skin. The color was relaxing.
I could see my house already, the large mint-colored plantation with many steps. I can’t say that I ever really loved my house, but everyone who sees it says that they would die to have it. It is pretty, but to me it’s just a house. Now Shane and Alison’s apartment: that was a home. Even though they fight with Marilynn often, it had that homey feel. It was safe. This place was just a thin mantel, a pretty shell that could be dashed and broken without much effort.
I put my hands in my pockets, icy blue meeting my hands, and ascended the first stair. The place was so formal that I almost knocked. I would have laughed at myself for the mistake, but here I did not find it funny. I opened one of the large double doors and stepped inside. One of the pale maids greeted me and tried to take my jacket.
“No, that’s okay. I’m cold.”
She nodded and exited the room quicker than she had entered it.
I really wasn’t cold, the house was kept warm, but I hated having the maids do everything for me. It got so old; it made me feel like deadweight. I didn’t mind serving, so why should I be served?
I ascended the second stair, the left side of a massive double stair that lead to the second story balcony that overlooked the front door.
Climbing the third and last stair, this one a little shorter than the others, I opened the paneled door to my room. I wasn’t sure if my mother was home, but I didn’t bother to check. She would be busy with someone if she were here. Besides, the pale maids would cook dinner.
I hung my jacket back in my closet, a rainbow of green waiting to be used; each fabric a different color in my mind. I ran my hands through the many articles of clothing, their colors channeling through my fingertips: soft reds overlapping light greens, pale blues on dark sage. Even treacherous White had her place in my closet. I arranged all my clothes by their synesthestic colors. It made it easer to find what I needed.
I made sure to button my coat on the rack so the red lining would not be visible. It was something I had picked up from Knox, though I needn’t use the trick here. No one cared where I had been or where I would go next. I might as well have been one of the maids, entering the room one moment and disappearing the next. Not a word, not a question, barely living. I don’t want to say that I hated it here; part of me liked the freedom. But I knew that I wasn’t happy living here. It got so lonely living here practically by myself. My mother had been married three times already. None of her husbands paid me much attention either. I don’t know if she was always that way, not really wanting me, just letting me live. I guess she could have killed me before I was born if she wanted to. She knew of abortion. She could have ended my life before I even resembled a human. But she didn’t, and I often wonder about that. Why didn’t she just kill me? It’s a common procedure. Lots of women do it. She could have done it so easily and then not had to worry with me ever again. It just didn’t make sense to me. Maybe she liked the idea of having a child, someone who would love her, someone who would need her, but found that it wasn’t as easy as planned? Maybe it was when my birth father left that she decided she didn’t want to deal with me anymore, that it was easier to let the maids take care of me than for her to do it herself.
I know my father wanted me, he paid for the house and he still sends my mother money to help take care of me. She doesn’t let me read the letters he sends me though, and she won’t let him visit either. What difference does it make to her? She doesn’t want to see me, but he does. Why not let him? Am I some prize, some ransom that she has to keep hidden? Am I some treasure to her? She treats me like dust, something to be swept under the carpet and forgotten about, and yet she wants others to think that I’m some type of rare diamond. Something new and exciting, something purchased on a whim, something to show off to others. Some thing. If I am a novelty, then she has long sense tired of me. I don’t see how someone would treat a child like that, but I guess that’s what I am. If you were to ask me how it feels to be a novelty, I could tell you, but by the spewing above I think I already have.

The Next Shade: Gray

The Narrative Continued by Knox

I slipped back in through the window. It was late and the lights were long cold, but the other kids were still up, ungodly beings that they were.
"Out late again, Knox?" Asked Rinji through the black, being far too awake for my taste.
"Sure looks like it, huh?"
"So what were you doing?"
"Nothing important." I was almost sad that I had spoken the truth.
"Are you going out again tomorrow?"
"Would Parker care if I did?"
"No, I doubt it."
"Okay, then."
"But you'd do it anyway, even if Parker did care."
"Yeah."
"So--"
"Look Rinji, I just want to go to sleep now, okay? Slit your speech until tomorrow at least."
"Oh, yeah, sorry." He went off to talk to some of the other kids. They were just as hyper as he was. Sometimes I wished I could come back to a normal home, with quite nights, and enforced bed times. Parker had already left for the night; there was no one to keep them from staying up all night if they wanted to. Even Marilynn didn't seem so bad compared to this complete disorder. I must have been wiped out to be thinking like that.
I climbed into bed, gray hidden by black. There were no familiar genders to greet me, no inanimate persons to wish me a goodnight. But I knew they were there just as well as the other kids were; the only difference being held in volume. The Synners were quiet, the orphans loud.
I closed my eyes to fall asleep, hoping my headache would be gone in the morning, knowing that it would still be there when I got up.

Synesthete

by

Nathanael Gassett

Prolog: The Trains


This is a history of the City Chromatic. It was created long ago by people whose names are no longer remembered. They built the city as a unique experience, as the ultimate projection of art. The entire city was the canvas, dividing Chromatic into eleven districts: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Violet, Indigo, Black, White, Gray and Brown. Everything within the City is colored, and district colors must never be mixed. The grass and plants were injected with dyes, the streets painted, animals bread for certain colors, the people's clothes, the cars, the buildings, the signs, the paper, everything in each district must be within the shade of the district's color. It was quite a sight to walk through the City; it was a great symbol of beauty and order.
But beauty may easily be tainted, and often times when all colors are brought together an ugly shade is produced. So it was with the city. The crime rose steadily, the people grew ever evil. Homes were broken into, blood stained every street; nowhere was safe, every open space like a dark alley. The thieves and criminals held no shame and went forth with all bravery. There was never a united company, there was no banning together into gangs, nor was there any coming together to stop the singular criminals.
It was crime, not color that then ruled the City.
The Creators looked down from their tower and saw that what they had created was evil, what they had created had brought no peace to the world. They could not contain bliss in a single city, for even it was too large.
The Creators spoke amongst themselves and decided that it was time for a new creation: they would abandon the City and try again. They planted a garden, the most wonderful garden ever seen by any on the earth at that time. It would be a place of perfect power, a place of perfect peace. More sacred than Eden, it would be the greater sister of the two. They decided that this was better than the first creation. As planned, the Garden was smaller than the City, only so many would be able to come and those who did would be more carefully controlled. They were determined to control peace this time, and the Garden would allow them to do just that.
They built trains, many trains with many tracks, all with a straight course to the Garden, they were the only way to get there, the only thing allowed through the gates.
Tickets were sold at the Field, their price outrageous, riches determining who would go. Citizens sold all to buy one, homeowners put their houses to market; husbands sold their wives for sexual pleasure; mothers sold their children as slaves. Friends murdered friends for their belongings, sisters killed mothers, brothers their fathers, unlocking their inheritance for the sake of a single ticket.
All colors burned with selfish rage.
The tickets dwindled with the sanity of all, and soon but a few remained. The last few tickets were bought and locked away in a unique safe, guarded by color, protected by shade. Only the Synesthete can unlock it, only the Synesthete can see the invisible guardians, and all would fight to have him.
The Captains of the City, Saviors they are called, are determined to have those tickets. The Synesthete’s identity is unknown, but his condition is not. The Saviors issued a new law, banning synesthesia, capturing all whom they could find that had it. They tested these “Synners”, every one they could catch, but none could unlock the safe. The Synners were killed, and the Saviors vowed to never stop their hunt, not until the Synesthete is found.



The First Shade: Gray

The Narrative Begun by Hector

“Do you see the colors too?” she asked me. We were in the Gray Room, and all was pale and lifeless. I said nothing, acting as if she had not spoken at all.
“I see them all the time,” the little girl sighed. Looking to the floor she whispered, “I see them when the world makes a sound. People have color too.” She looked up at me again, kneeling with her hands in her pale little pockets. “Your color is a golden brown, like amber. It’s--”
“Shut up, deviant!” I exploded, slapping the girl across the face, sending her to the ground. “Do you want to die?!”
The little girl wept, dusty chalk from the floor staining her dress and face. Her tears pushed the pale powder from her cheek, cutting canals down her face. A spot of red grew in color on her left cheek, the only subtle change in the whole room.
“What did I do?” the little girl choked. “I was just--”
“Not another word!” I bellowed, catching the attention of others around me, the crowd tried to scoot away, but every inch of space was taken, filled by flesh.
“Hector!” a new voice, Ellen's, sounded in a harsh whisper, “Leave her alone, she’s just a little girl!”
A woman from among the mass of tightly packed people stood to her knees, looking over the hoards of sitting gray captives.
“She was talking about colors!” I hissed back, jabbing an accusing finger at the chalk-covered girl. Sever heads turned away, they were smart enough not to want any part in this conversation.
“What’s wrong with that?” spoke the girl again, smearing the dust and tear mixture with the back of her hand. “My mother and father told me to never be ashamed of who I am or what I saw."
“And where are they now?” I asked in a tone most begrudging.
“...I don’t know,” replied the girl with sadness.
“They’re probably dead, fools that they were, telling you things like that. Don’t speak of what you see, the people here will kill you too if they hear it.”
The girl’s eyes opened wide, but that only aided the flow of tears. She was frightened out of her wits. She would break.
“Hector, don’t talk like that, you’ll scare her!” spoke Ellen again, crawling towards the girl, pushing past gray clad prisoners.
“If the truth frightens her, she has reason to be scared.”
“What truth?"
“The one we are all bound to.”
“We are bound to no truth, it does not exist. It’s no more than a man’s set of morals.”
“Think what you will, but if you talk like she was talking, you will be killed no matter what you believe.”
The woman reached the girl and snatched her up in her arms, pressing her filthy face to her pale charcoal breast. The child would not stop crying.
“She’s too young to know of things like that,” the woman whispered, trying to cover the girl’s ears. “You’ll give her night terrors.”
“There are worse terrors then those of the mind. She is awake now, it’s about time she stopped dreaming and faced the nightmare we all have to deal with.”
“Are you saying you see the colors too?”
“Of course not!”
The woman eyed me, seeking knowledge. I dismissed her and the child, “Just take her away before she causes more trouble.”
“And what am I suppose to do with her?”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you saved her.”
“Hector!”
“Take her or all the Saints here will know about her little pigmented friends.”
“I hope you get what you deserve, Hector, and you know better than I do what that punishment is.”
“Hell is a place for Synners, not Saints.”
“Then there must be something worse in store for you.”
“Take the girl, Ellen.”
Ellen gathered up the thick fabric of her skirt and laboriously crawled back to her original spot, dragging the girl with her. The overflow had filled her little sitting area, she had to push her way back, fighting for even a tiny section of the concrete floor.

The Narrative Continued by Ellen

There was no seating in the Gray Room. It was an empty shell. The floor was cold and hard, covered in a chalky gray substance that took the hassle out of cleaning spilled blood. The walls and ceiling were tall, stretching high up into the sky, vaulted like a basilica. The front and back walls were plain, gray concrete with two doors at each end as the only distinguishing features. The walls on the left and right held six acrylic windows hostage, putting them to work for lighting. They were tall, eight feet wide they rose to the ceiling, curving into a graceful half circle at the top. The light brought no comfort to the child I held in my arms. I whispered sweet lies of comfort and safety, but the girl continued to cry.
“Why did that man hit me?” her voice was still cracked.
“Because he was scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of you.”
“How could he be scared of me, I’m just a little girl!”
“I know sweetie, I know, I don’t understand it either.”
I patted the girl’s head and stroked her long blonde hair.
“You’re prettier than he was anyway,” said the child snidely.
“Oh, well I should say so!”
“Your eyes match perfectly, the shade and everything, it’s just like the rest of you.”
I stopped combing the girl’s hair. I was head to toe in differing hues of gray; dark grays and light grays, pale grays and hard grays. Only my eyes were blue.
“Yours is such a pretty color blue. My mommy told me the ocean is blue, I bet it’s the same shade.”
I pressed her close, trying to silence her yet again. It seemed that I too feared this child.
“Sweetie. Sweetie, don’t talk like that.”
The girl wrestled her face from my arms, “Why not?” She was indignant.
“Shhh! Only talk of gray here,” I said mechanically, “no other color should be mentioned. Only speak of gray.”
“But why?”
“Shhhh! Just don’t talk about them.”
“Why did that man call me a deviant? That’s what the Saints call the...”
“Yes, yes, that’s what they call the Synners.”
“But, I’m not a Synner am I?”
“Only if you want to be.”
“But if that’s the way I was born --”
“Then you pretend. Pretend you are a Saint. Everyone does it, just pretend.”
“But I don’t want to pretend, I want to be what I am.”
“No, no, no, you can’t do that, not here. You need to be what they want you to be, nothing more, sometimes less, just for a little while. Pretend you don’t see the colors.”
“But--”
“Just do like I do, and pretend you can’t see them!”
I tightened my hand around a wad of my ashen dress, hoping the child wouldn’t pick up what I had dropped. But she did.
“You see them too!” she whispered in excitement.
I cursed and then whispered, "No, I don’t see anything but your dirty face.”
“You do see them. I can tell.” The child’s tone had changed; she sounded almost like an adult; a horrible, sadistic adult like Hector.
“Come on, let me clean you up.”
“Just tell me. Please. I’m alone here, I’m different, you said so yourself. Let me know I’m not alone.”
“Darling, you are alone. It doesn’t matter what I see or what I don’t see, nothing will change that.”
“Just tell me.” There was that odd tone again, it scared me, and against my will I submitted to her request, “Alright, alright, I see the colors too. Whenever someone talks I see them, different shapes float around people like little insects as they speak. You cry little yellow circles from within. There, do you feel any better now?" I didn't care by this point, I just wanted her to be quiet. The child smiled, again looking much older than she was. “That’s all I needed, thank you.” She stood up.
“What are you doing? Sit down!”
She walked through the crowd a few paces, the fool! She pulled something from her small pocket and raised it to her mouth.
“What are you...?"
Static emitted from the devise, the angry color buzzed like furious red bees before her. I recognized the sound.
“Oh God.”
The girl spoke into the devise, silencing the static, “Yes, I've found a Synner: female, late 40s, section D--”
“No! What are you doing! Stop that!”
The two doors in the front opened. A swarm of men in gray cloths and gray glasses stormed out of the unseen and charged towards me, “Everyone remain seated please, unless you want to be taken as well.”
The crowd looked around in a panic, but obeyed the order as I wrestled with the girl, screaming. The child knocked me to the ground with the strength of an adult. I was frantic for aid, “Hector!” I screamed, “Hector help me!”

The Narrative Continued by Hector

I again remained silent.
She bolted towards the back door, stepping on hands and faces, pushing through the crowd. I'd done it before, it was like running through water waist-high. She would never make it.
The hem of her skirt tore and snagged on someone’s shoe. She clawed at it wildly, freeing the tattered cloth and continuing to the door. Her breathing was heavy as dust and tears of fear and rage ripped down her face. She knew they would catch her. The door was never unlocked. The Saints reached her, taking hold of her arms. She screeched like a banshee, foretelling her own death. Ellen tried to turn around, tried to fight back, but it was useless. She knew it was useless, but by this point her actions were controlled by adrenaline, not reason. She wrenched her arm away; her captor’s nails cutting deep channels down her arm. Blood dripped onto the floor, the chalk sticking to it, turning her life liquid gray. The Saints soon regained control, holding her down from all angles.
Then the little girl, the child who she had held crying just a moment ago, approached her once more, a gray rag in her hands.
“Now do you see a reason to fear?” She shoved the rag into Ellen’s mouth, muffling her last cry as the drug took effect. Her eyes clouded over and she fell limp into the arms of her captors. As the Saints drug her away, the girl grabbed on of them by the arm, “Relay the chalk.” He nodded and followed the rest.
The child took her time and gazed through the crowd. Her eyes meet with mine, “Thank you sweetie,” she said in a tone that was sickening. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”



The Next Shade: Red

The Narrative continued by Alison


I gasped, inhaling sharply as my eyes snapped open. It made no difference in my vision whether they were open or closed, but my body pulled them open out of habit. I hadn't always been blind.
I felt my eyes move about in their sockets, seeing nothing but black, my least favorite color. The world was forever dark to me, but that is not to say that the world is without color, or that my eyes are blind to all.
I have synesthesia, the amazing condition that the City has outlawed. I have but one form of the 'disease', but it is one that I would not trade for any other.
My sense of smell is abnormal, heightened, and every smell has a color, each sent is visible in my mind. I can see people's color too, their pheromones inducing synesthesia, their presence is like a fog in my mind, a colored haze that is visible whenever they are close. Each person has their own unique shade, their own unique color and texture that seems to hover in front of the them. Now that I am sightless, the colors are all that I see. And though the colors are somehow peaceful, (often nicer than the person himself), and though very much a part of each person, it isn't the same as seeing someone's face and I regret the loss of my sight every day.
A glint of gold caught my attention. It was my husband, Shane.
I inhaled deeply and swung my feet out from under the sheets, the stiff fabric scraping my calloused feet unpleasantly but familiarly. My soles touched the cold concrete floor without pleasure, and I reached over to the side for my seeing stick. I felt the wooden side table, the paint was fresh and smooth, and moved my fingers slowly over until I felt the cold steel. The slick pole pushed the heat from my hands, taking with it the comfort I had felt in sleep. It was time to wake up.
With one more breath and a groan I pushed myself up, slipping the leather loop from my cane around my wrist. I didn't need it in my home, but I didn’t' want to forget it again, it would be suspicious for a blind to avoid people on the street without the use of an instrument or an animal.
I felt the cool morning air flow into the room as I neared the balcony; it aided in the waking effect. I always prefer the night to the morning; it's impossibly hard to wake up when your eyes still seemed closed.
The golden cloud moved slightly, the small fog-like tendrils branching off now and then like a slow flame. Shane always watched the City from our balcony. I used to watch it too.
I stepped out next to the color, my hands reaching until they felt the railing. It was chilled, like everything else, and though I couldn't see it I knew it was red. Everything was red here.
"Good morning," I said.
"Morning." He was not the talkative type, saying only what needed to be said.
"How's the City?" I asked, half knowing, half pondering the answer.
"Full of Saints, but their are Synners too."
"No. Not there. They're hiding someplace."
"We won't hid forever."
"We can't."
I wasn't sure I could convince myself to believe that. Looking down, I saw nothing. We where too high up for me to sense the pheromones of any citizens walking on their way to work, and the City was careful to keep the air spotlessly clean; it had no sent, and so no color. I remember being able to see people as they strolled down the sidewalks and streets, I had always wished there was a distinguishing mark between Synners and Saints, a slight difference in color, a shape or pattern that was unique to one group. But even to my synesthestic eye they look no different. That makes it so much worse; makes it hard to act on my justified prejudice.
"What time is it?"
"Six twenty-three."
"What, no second count this time?" I teased. One form of Shane's synesthesia revolved around time, each minute of each day has a color all it's own. He wares a watch for the sake of appearances, but needs it not for the telling of time.
"Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine..."
I felt him loosen up some; I think he might have been smiling too.
"How long till the meeting?'
"Twenty-five minutes, fifty-six seconds." He really was a master timesteller, and by far the best watchmaker in the City. We all enjoyed using our synesthestic gifts and Shane was no exception. There is something very pleasurable about the colors, they were far less sinister than the City's.
"Let's get ready."
I followed his color back into the warm, stuffy air, waiting near the bed and listening as he went to the closet. I don't need my eyes to tell you what he retrieved. For me, red pants and a long-sleeved shirt, leather gloves that had been dyed the color of blood, and a matching leather jacket that reached below my knees. This is my standard uniform for the month of November. It always had been, even before my sight was taken from me.
My husband helped me dress quickly; the others would be here soon.
"Do you want to wake Marilynn?" asked Shane.
I didn't, but I needed to, "Sure."
"I'll get breakfast ready."
"Something fast, Marilynn will have a fit if we eat during the meeting again."
I felt my way through the hallway, counting the steps to the side door. I reached out and knocked. The door vibrated slightly with each knock. I was pleased that I had counted right, hitting the door in its center. I heard my sister stirring, the sheets ruffling with a starched sound. I felt her light footfalls through the floor. I did not turn to face her, but stared into the blackness straight ahead. There was no point in my moving my head; there was nothing new to see on that side of my neck. The door opened and I saw her color, a hazy red, as bright as it ever would be. I knew she was already fully awake and thinking clearly, she is nearly the moment she wakes up every morning.
"Good morning," her voice was not quite as awake as her mind.
"Shane's getting breakfast."
"Just make sure your done eating before the meeting starts."
I nodded and counted my way back to the living room.
It's odd how one can feel space around them. I knew the moment I entered the living room that I was there for it felt as if the air suddenly got lighter, though there was more of it here.
The smell of fresh fruit wafted into my nose, the sound of a knife attacking a cutting board reached my ears. I followed the smell and the sound into the kitchen, holding my hands out a little just to be sure I wouldn't fall. I heard the ceramic clinking of plates and redware, then the sharp thud of them being set at the table. I ran my hand across the table until I found a chair. I sat down on the painted wood, feeling the familiar grains that it held. I felt for the fork and began to stab bits of fresh fruit, the juices squeezing out audibly. I loved strawberries, their rich green sent wafted up my nose, illuminating my mind. As I ate I watched the golden haze of my husband. I never tired of the color; it was always beautiful. I just wished I could see the rest of him. The color left me with half a picture, just a shining silhouette of what once was. I pushed the thoughts away and focused on my breakfast, the last thing I needed to do today was concentrate on my problems, they drew enough attention to themselves.
There was a knock at the door.
Shane's color vanished from the room like a phantom, almost making me wonder if I had seen it at all. I heard the door open in the other room; quiet greetings; footsteps.
Three fogs entered the room. Shane's golden haze lead the way, followed by the smooth, almost liquid green that I knew was Esther, and lastly a brown, more static than smooth: Knox.
"Good morning," I said without looking up.
"Morning," mumbled Knox. Though it was after 6:00 he wasn't awake yet.
"Hi, Alison!" piped Esther. I never had to worry about her being awake.
"You guys want some breakfast?" asked Shane. He had grown rather found of the both of them. We never had any kids, scared that we would pass on this curse, they were as close as we would get and they already had it. Knox lived at the orphanage, but they didn't care where he went as long as he was back by curfew, though he found it easy enough to sneak back out after the lights went out in the City. At first we didn't think he would be helpful at all, only keeping in contact because he was a Synner, his form of synesthesia seemed rather useless, knowing the gender and age of inanimate objects, but we soon found that it could be used as a memory aid. He is brilliant with directions, knowing each street corner and tile by it's gender, and has even used it to track people, their coat giving off this information.
For Esther, every thing she touches has a color unique to that object. She has to be careful when talking to others about any given object, making sure she refers to the color seen by all and not the synesthestic shade. She lived with a mother who seems to have forgotten about giving birth. Her mother had been married three times before and was constantly busy with a new husband, or lover, and never paid her daughter any attention. Esther didn't seem to mind, but I know that it has to get to her sometimes. When things aren't as they are supposed to be, there are reactions, even if we try not to experience them. That's something I learned the hard way.
"What do you have?" asked Knox.
"Raspberries, Strawberries, and some toast if you don't mind the dye." Shane answered.
"Have I ever minded the dye? It's in everything. Next they'll inject it into our bodies."
Esther's color brightened a bit, ever so slightly, I would have missed it were I not looking for it, "Do you really think so?" She sounded frightened. She always hated to think about what the City could do next. She used to be a bit naive about the scheme of things, and a lot calmer, but after she found out about what the City really does, and the agenda it has against people like us, nervousness and caution came hand in hand. Even so, I am not one who believes the ignorance is bliss, I think all would agree that it would be better to take a moment to look both ways before crossing the street than to walk blind, die, and never know what hit you.
"Don't worry," I assured her, "if they keep putting dye in all the foods like they have been, we won't have to get injections to change our color."
I heard the scraping of toast on the table. Esther had put her piece down.
"Lighten up," groaned Knox, "it was just a joke. No need to freak out." I heard the toast scrape the table again. Knox had picked it up. He was more pleasant in the afternoon, but that's not to say that he was every overly polite. He was certainly rough around the edges.
Marilynn entered the room. I watched, almost with regret that I had woken her up, as her color came close. I saw far too much of that hazy red cloud.
The colored essences of the resistance arranged themselves at the table, the sounds of scraping chairs and the putting away of food were prevalent in my ears
Marilynn had a way of taking charge that made me forever associate the color red with power, and also with a sibling's distaste
.
The Narrative Continued by Marilynn

The dishes were cleared and the food put away. The meeting was finally underway.
"As you might have heard, information has leaked to our sources that the Saviors may have new information on the one that we seek."
Knox spoke, "Sources? Do they have names?"
"Yes, but they will not be spoken. This is a dangerous business, Knox, it's not fun and games, it never was, and we all have scares to prove it."
My sister curled her hand into a fist beneath the table; her fingers turned white, the same color that had taken her sight. Knox half rolled his eyes, but I let it pass without punishment, if only for my sister's sake.
"I know that the information is not always reliable, the sources don't always come through, but we have to take every lead, we have to try every option lest we miss the one that leads us to the Synesthete."
Knox nodded. I got through to him at last.
"What kind of information is it," asked Shane, his voice bringing my mind back to the point of the meeting. He had a way of doing that.
"And where is it held?" My sister, Alison, added.
"The file may lead us to the residence of the one we seek, it is doubtful that she still lives there now, but it might give us a name, or at least a smaller region to search through, a forward address, something. It is stored in the Green District, in a computer in the downtown library."
"Why the library?" asked Esther. She always needed an explanation, "aren't there more protected places to keep it, like in the bank or a safe or something?"
"Banks are broken into, safes are stolen; the last protector of this city is secrecy. But, as you can plainly see, even that is failing. Fortunately for us, that downfall aids us, at least for now."
"But there has to be a pass code right," said Knox, "It's not like it's just going to be a directory out for the public to read."
"Your right, the file has a pass code and is encrypted as well. I received the pass code along with the information, but we're going to have to cipher it our selves when we get it back home."
"What's the password?"
I held up a piece of paper with a series of colored lines printed vertically across it: Blue, gray, indigo, yellow, red, violet, white, green. We all knew what it stood for, though I doubted any but Shane could remember its meaning.
"The letters are merely a sporadic few, they hold no meaning that I am aware of. Try to remember their colors, you may need that knowledge later on when we go to extract the file."
"Wouldn't it be better if we all memorized the actual letters instead of the colors?" Knox was always questioning my advice.
"No. The less information you all know, the better. If any one of you are to be caught, God forbid that ever happen, I don't want you to have to lie when you say that you don't know what's going on."
"And besides," added my sister, "Memorizing the color patter instead of the word pattern will help remind you to keep quiet about this whole operation."
Knox spoke again, "If you're the only one who is going to be hacking the computer, then why do we need to know the code as well? We don't even know what it means."
"Because I'm human too, and I might forget it."

The Next Shade: Green

The Narrative Continued by Marilynn.

We changed our clothes from red to green, hiding the new color as quickly as we had donned it, pulling red stockings over our green shoes, packing green gloves, green pens and green paper into a small red bag. We all wore long, crimson trench coats that came nearly down to the floor. Our stockings were long enough to take it from there, covering up the rest of the green. As we buttoned out coats from the collar to the bottom, the green was sealed completely within, like a pearl within a clam.
"Ready?" I asked, surveying our red-clad resistance. Everyone looked as the City said they should look, the varying shades of red piecing together to form the perfect image of City dress code.
Everyone nodded in agreement.
I stole one last glance at the code, not daring to take it with me. Being caught with a card like that, with all the colors put together in that way, there would be no denying that I was a Synner and not a Saint.
"Let's go."
We took the long spiral stair down to the first floor, the freshly painted red steps and red railing were dangerously smooth, as if covered in blood. We exited out of the back door into Crimson Street, one of the busiest in all the City. It was a bustling, blood-colored stream of people, and I knew that it would sweep us away like a rapid if we weren't careful.
"Stay together," I cautioned, and then we slipped into the street, blending Synner and Saint in a way that no one would notice. We looked the same as anyone else there, there was no marking a Synner, not noticeable baring of the curse of Cain, nor the tattoo of one punished, we were mark-less and mingled with everyone else. But though we looked the same, we saw things completely different. The sounds of the crowd colored my vision, performing great arts on my synesthestic stage, making the mundane and everyday interesting, almost a show. Though it cursed us, at times it could be wonderful to have synesthesia.
We made our way to the crossing, shedding our red skins for our green ones, turning our jackets inside out, removing our red stockings and storing them in a green bag for later use. We passed the threshold without the alarm going off, signaling that we were safe. It was always a tense moment, passing under the sensor, if any of us had missed a speck of wrong color, there would be Saviors to inspect us, possibly even question us. There was no need for unnecessary risk, we were careful to show only green.
The district was large, but a bit smaller than the Red District, of course that could be said of all districts, Red was the largest.
We stopped a block from the library, by the small, planted forest that lay between the Red and Green districts. As the leaves changed from green to red, it would become part of the Red District, furthering the color's territory. For now, the trees belonged to Green.

The Narrative Continued by Knox

Marilynn called me over to where she was standing beneath the trees, I knew what was coming, and I wasn't happy about it.
"Yeah?"
"You and Esther are going to stay with Alison. Wait for me and Shane to finish in the library, are we clear?"
"Why don't I come with you?"
"Because three's a crowd. It will look suspicious."
"It will look like you're helping me with my homework."
"Then the teachers will try to help you."
"So let them. I can distract the employees while you and Shane have free access."
"We wouldn't need to distract the teachers unless you came along. It makes things more complicated. Stay here with the others."
"Why won't you just trust me?"
"I do trust you," -she lied through her teeth- "this just isn't a good idea."
"Whatever."
"Listen, no one's making you be a part of this, if you aren't going to follow instructions--"
"I'll meet you with the others."
I turned by back and walked away, ending the conversation with my words, knowing it would tick her off.


The Narrative Continued by Esther

We stopped to wait for instructions under the trees. Marilynn was talking to Knox, we all knew what that was about. I didn't mind waiting here at all; I loved the trees, the air was so fresh beneath them. I touched the leaves on a low branch; cool gray glowed along my hand. It was similar to Shane's color, but much lighter. I put my glove back on, the familiar transparent blue gracing my hands, and looked at my watch, 8:45:07 I wasn't sure if that was right though; on missions like these our interpretation of time needed to be exact. I asked Shane, he knew time better than any of us.
"Shane, what time is it?"
"9:04:04."
I knew that couldn't be right, but he said it so seriously.
"But, it can't be---"
"It's 8:46:09," Said Alison, though she was not correcting him.
"Remember the time," Shane said to me, confusing me further.
"What do you mean?"
Marilynn interrupted before I could get an answer.
"All right, me and Shane will go to the library, get the information and meet you all on the corner of Mint Street in a couple of hours, it will be busy with people by the time we get there. Hang out here for a little while before you go there, we don't want anyone having suspicions. Everyone clear?"
"Sure," said Knox sourly.
Marilynn flashed him a look I would not have liked to receive. I complied quickly and politely.
"Good."
Shane stood up and followed Alison, "Be sure to remember the time," he said. I wasn't sure what it meant, but I quickly memorized the numbers. White, blue, green, violet, black. I repeated the sequence to myself, white, blue, green, violet, black...

The Narrative Continued by Shane

We checked into the library, gaining an sixty minute pass to the computers. That would be plenty of time for Marilynn to find the file and begin the decoding.
We sat side by side in wheeled chairs, I kept watch as Marilynn typed; the terminals were not walled off.
She clicked off the library's electronic database and summoned the task bar to the green-tinted screen. Typing 'fwlgcmk3' into the search engine brought one result. She opened it and received a warning: "Tampering with the contents of this file may cause suspension of library privileges. Continue?" The library's security system was active.
With a few simple key commands she brought to the screen a dark green box that was blank save for a blinking widget. Typing "override//securityfwlgcmk3;code4cc" dismissed the warning without having to select 'yes' or 'no'. So far so good. The file opened and began to load. There were a over two hundred pages, all of them encoded, a mass of jumbled letters and symbols; it would take ages to decode, and that's just what I wanted.

The Narrative Continued by Claudia

"Mr. Wyeth, I believe there is a resistance."
"A resistance of what?" asked the lead Captain of the City, the Colorless Man.
"Of us."
"Under whose name?"
"The Synesthete, no doubt."
"They will not be a problem, see to it that my words are made true."
"They will be at the library in the Green District this morning at nine o'clock, someone tipped me off."
"Is the information reliable?"
"One can never be sure, a woman named Alison called the Savior's Office and told me they would be there."
"A fake name, but perhaps not false information. What if no one is there?"
"The new Harket novel is supposed to be good, perhaps I'll check it out."
Mr. Wyeth laughed in his vile way, pleased with the joke.
"Very well then, go find the resistance!"


The Narrative Continued by Marilynn

Shane seemed a bit nervous, more so than he had been on any other mission, even ones much more dangerous than this. I wondered why. It was just a simple extraction. It was like he knew something that he wasn't telling me, a bit of knowledge that I might need to know. I tried not to worry about it, and focused on decoding the file.
We had been here nearly and hour and the decoding was slow; the progress bar moving sluggishly along. We didn't have much time left.

The Narrative Continued by Shane

Claudia would be here any minute, our chance to capture her. Me and Alison both knew that Marilynn would never go along with it, but we had to try. Of course I felt bad about deceiving Marilynn, and I knew it would damage our trust, but if we could catch Claudia it would be worth it. She would know more about the Synesthete than we could ever learn from a file, even if one did exist. The one we were looking for was planted by ourselves. We know of Claudia's weakness, we know that her own blood will turn on her within a day without dialysis, if only we could keep her for that long.
Colored minutes passed by my mind, black the stronger, yellow slightly weaker, the pale tan off to the side. 8:59. Almost time.

The Narrative Continued by Marilynn

I clicked away, deleting our tracks, making our visit to the library nonexistent in the flow of recorded time.
My watched beeped quietly, a small yellow dot. 9:00.
"We better go," Shane warned, taking the portable drive from the computer.
We got up from our seats, would have to finish the decoding at--
The elevator door behind us opened: Claudia and a host of Saints stood in the opening.
"There they are," I heard her say. We were the only ones near the computer terminals; her murderous gaze was on us.
Shane told me to run.

The Narrative Continued by Knox

We waited several streets across; people were just beginning to exit the buildings and fill the roads, blocking our view of the library.
I heard faint gunshots from within. The citizens paid no attention to it, it was normal in this City, but we watched the doors intently. Citizens flooded the streets.
The doors burst open, Shane and Marilynn running down the high stair.
"Get ready," Alison warned. I heard Shane shout to Marilynn, "I'm right behind you, go to the others!" She cut through the crowd like a needle as he doubled back, his actions shouting the lie he had told.
Claudia and two of the Saints of Green exploded from the library, scanning the crowd.
Marilynn reached us, hysterical, Alison stopped her and tried to calm her down.
The frantic woman turned around and realized that Shane was no longer behind her.
"Where's Shane?"
"Marilynn please listen--"


The Narrative Continued by Marilynn

"Shane!" my voice cracked. The crowd devoured him in a sea of green.
"Where is he going?" I demanded, wanting a straight answer, nothing to soften the blow.
"He went to find Claudia," Alison said, trying to do just that.
"What?" I turned from them, my seeking eyes as useless as Alison's. There was only green to be seen.
Then it donned on me, "Esther, go find him."
"No," said Alison firmly. She thought she was the leader here, and she wanted me to know it. She always acted this way in the field. I ignored her as I did at home, "Esther, please, find Shane, look for his color!"
"Marilynn, he knows what he's doing, we don't need someone else getting lost."
"You have no idea what Claudia is capable of."
"She took my sight from me, I know what she can do!"
I ignored her again, "Esther, please," my voice strained, "find him!"
Like a frightened rabbit she stood there, shifting nervous glances between my sister and me.
"Go!"
She took off running into the crowd, ripping the gloves from her hands.
"Esther, no!" Knox shouted after her.
Alison grabbed my arm, "Come, I need to talk to you."
"Alison, we don't--"
"At least grant me that, sister, if nothing else."
I'm not a cold person, this was a request that I could comply to.
I followed her into an alley, "I don't know what you are trying to do, but it won't work, not like this."
I heard a sickening whack and put my hand to my head. Blood stained my hands. I fell to my knees.
Alison stood above me, blood showing brightly on her green cane. I fell further.
"I'm sorry, sister."
Black took over.

The Narrative Continued by Knox

"Her color is faded, she's out," Alison told me, "Hand me a rag."
I froze. The plan sounded fine when we talked about it, I had no problem with it, but seeing it in play, Marilynn on the ground with blood all around her, was different. Alison defrosted me quickly.
"Knox, the rag, now."
I dug a green cloth from my pocket and handed it to her. She felt along her cane until she came to the section with her sister's blood. She wiped the color from it, feeling the female cane with her hands to be sure.
"Is it all gone?"
"Yeah."
"Quick, help me pick her up."
I responded as if entranced. Marilynn was heavier than I thought, and I struggled to keep her torso in my arms.
"Where is the trash bin? The one we decided on?
They all looked similar, I couldn't focus, "I can't remember the gender."
"The big one, the male, older didn't you say? Think, Knox!."
"OK, there it is," we had gone over this before, but panic fogged my memory.
We shuffled over to the large green tub, trying not to drop her.
"OK, open it."
It was empty, the trash had been picked up on schedule.
She felt for the edge of the bin then dropped her sister's feet in. I nearly dropped the body from the momentum of the fall, Marilynn's body rattling against the empty, metal bin.
"Be careful!" Alison scolded, "place her in carefully."
Again I froze. I hate that I do that.
"Put her in the bin, it's the only place she'll be safe until we get back."
I couldn't move, Marilynn's head was still in my arms. Though I had clear instructions, I didn't know what to do. Her Blood dripped down on my arm.
"Oh just move, I'll take care of it. Head back to the apartment, you're done."
Still I could not move.
"Knox!"
I nearly dropped Marilynn, but recovered enough to hand her to Alison.
I turned from the scene; the sound of Alison closing the bin reached me. I didn't dare look back.

The Narrative Continued by Esther



I tried to focus on finding Shane. I tore off my gloves and ran into the crowd. A rainbow of colors flashed before me as I felt person after person, touching every glove-less hand. There were smooth hands, rough hands, reds, blues, purples, yellows, all colors of all shades; but no gray. I kept walking, trying to pick out the colors as they came. There were so many people; it was impossible to focus. The colors flashed and faded as if angry. I would never find Shane in all of this, I just couldn't do it. Then I remembered the time. I checked my watch: 9:03:39, I still had time. I raced to the center of the plaza, people bumping into me and sending color into my mind, I had to find the center of the tiled boardwalk, the light green circle. I pushed and shoved; trying to get there, color surrounding me everywhere. For a second, I almost wished they would go away.
Then I saw her. A child stood in the middle of the green street. Claudia.
I turned my back to her quickly, gasping. I didn't bother trying to hide the fact that I was scared. I held out my hands again, palms open, fingers spread, channeling color from all directions.
Come on Shane. I can't find you. You have to find me. I looked at my watch: 9:04:03. Please.
Gray flashed before my eyes, Shane! I grabbed the hand that caused the color and followed him to the left, crossing streets and passing people, stopping in an alley.
"Shane!" I nearly hugged him on the spot.
"I'm glad you figured out the plan. Come on, we don't have much time."


The Narrative Continued by Shane


I knew Ester was a smart kid; Marilynn doesn't give her enough credit. But I wanted her to be calm; that was the tricky part.
"Ester, I need you to listen, okay?"
"But Marilynn sent me to bring you back, Claudia is out there!"
"Look, Ester, it doesn't matter, we'll take this one at a time, okay? One thing at a time." Her voice trailed off, but her eyes were still in a panic. This might be harder than I thought.
"One thing at a time, understand? Only one thing."
She nodded but still looked scared. I don't blame her.
"All I need you to do is follow me, okay, and do exactly what I tell you to do, got it?"
"Uh huh.""Stay close." I grabbed her hand; hoping my color would comfort her, keep her calm. It seemed to work. Now for the hard part; capturing Claudia. I knew Marilynn would be furious, but we couldn't let her ego get in the way of something this important. We had to act, and deal with her chaos later.

Synesthete

by

Nathanael Gassett