colours
He walked slowly home. The sun was shining down and the people were so clear, all the building sharp and focused. Cold hard lines, well defined edges, the air cut cleanly as the wind brushed past, a cool breeze passing down from the north. He marvelled at the litter, strewn so precisely on the pavement, patterns forming from the falling remnants as the people walked and talked and laughed and loved in the world above.
He glanced up. The clouds were moving in. He pulled up his collar and walked swiftly on as the rain began to fall. A raindrop hit his arm. He looked down at the path it left against his arm. His skin was streaked grey where the rain had trickled down on its voyage to the ground below. Wildly he looked around. The rain was taking the colour from everything it touched. The rain was coming down harder now. The people were grey hollow shapes, and the buildings just vague shadows, hardly there at all.
He hunched himself against the rain and forced himself to a stumbling run. He could feel each raindrop as it struck his back, draining his colour from him, forcing him closer to the background. He grabbed a passer-by by the arm.
"Can't you see what's happening?" he yelled into the stranger's face, already streaked from the rain and nearly colourless, "The rain is taking our colour!"
"Colours?," the stranger replied, "There are no colours. Colours only exist in the old films, back before they invented black and white and all the shades of grey that make our world so beautiful."
He collapsed to the pavement at the the stranger's feet, his body shuddering in the rain as his tears slowly drained his brown eyes to grey.
