In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Local Color.”
A world devoid of color…I immediately thought of two things: the book The Giver and my current surroundings. If you’ve never read The Giver, then do it. Do it now. (And don’t watch the movie, I beg you. They butchered one of the best books ever written.) After thinking about that book, I looked outside. It’s Northern Oregon in November. The light has almost fully left the sky for the day. It’s starting to rain for a stretch that’s supposed to last several days. It’s gray. All shades of gray; monochromatic yuck. I wrote about this recently, so I’ll stop launching into that again.
My response to the prompt was automatic. The sky, of course. In a world where only one thing gets to keep its color, I’d choose the sky. It’s one thing, but it’s everywhere. I don’t always get to see it, but above the clouds of gray depressed muck, it’s there.
Now, the prompt implied that I could assign only one color to my chosen object, but I am tweaking this because blogging. I declare that the sky will get to change colors as it would normally. From washed-out, faded, shy baby blue to brilliant, deep blues to fiery (Fun Fact – I just now learned how to spell fiery. Hot damn.) oranges and reds and yellows to the darkest midnight purples and blacks.
In my world, if the world must be all gray, we get to keep the sky.
We get to keep all of it.
Psychobabble 