A Colorful Day

A Story by Rafi Ahmed

It is about a Synesthete who has quite a wild day. No Spoilers!!

A Colorful Day

Thud.

As I stop my car, I look out of my window. Under the blue horizon, I feel as free as a bird. How long has it been since I took a holiday? Being the Chief of Security is a hard job, but since I am doing a tremendous work: President Quinn said,

‘Take a break! Crime rates have fallen beyond compare. A holiday won’t make an apple thief into a Galactic criminal.’

So here I am, driving along lonely green roads in the blue planet of Zoolance. I get out of my car and start a staring contest for hours with the beauty before me.

‘Here to stay; even when I’m gone: when I close my eyes, through the passage of time…’

I’m interrupted by the sudden phone call. Anxious to find out who called, I search for my purple phone I specially bought for this vacation.

‘Good Moring Sir President.’ I say respectfully.

‘I’m afraid it is neither morning nor good. I have grieve news of the utmost importance. It has to be delivered face-to-face.’

‘Roger.’

He cuts off the line. Staring at my purple phone, my mind travels through all levels of anxiety. I leave the lonely green roads toward the comforting grey city. I park in the office garage and get out of my car.

As I pass a purple corridor, anxiety pulls me towards a closed room from where a I heard the roar of a television. A reporter read,

‘…As you can see, smoke is still coming from the massive pile of debris in Bangladesh, Earth from the Solar System. Rumors say that it was a terrorist attack to get revenge on the Chief of Security of our Milky Way Galaxy. Some believe his family lives, pardon, lived there…’

The Rest of the words went away in a blur. I rush to my ship, Ace. As I storm towards Earth, the energy of the fiery yellow Sun seems to fuel my anger. I arrive at the stage of carnage.

I am in front of my house. The grey debris does not feel like home anymore. I can feel the radiation but it is like throwing a stick of fire into lava; does not make a difference. Suddenly it starts to rains. I recall a memory of how I used to make fun of old Hollywood movies that it always rained when someone died. If my family was here, they would say, ‘Look who’s laughing now.’

The red rain seems as if the sky is mourning my misery alongside me. I look at the yellow sun setting behind all the debris. I look beyond into the blue sky, to stars in search of hope. I do nothing but pray that my family escaped this vast, red wasteland. I pray, around the mounds of corpses, for something, I know is not going to happen.

And for the first time, I have a new feeling. I remember a line from a song, ‘How can I be Lost? , if I got Nowhere to Go.’