In Search Of Written Words

In Search of Written Words. . . Writing Prompt, alternate grey scale world that only find color when you find your soul mate.

It was grey scale—all of it.

Everything his black eyes touched, monotonous tones of grey, black, and white. It had been most of his life; except that one brief moment when suddenly the colors poured in, over-saturated, blinding and resilient.

They said it would happen. If you found your soul mate, and as long as you saw them—

He caught a glimpse of her as she trotted down the street; his eye following the spaced that filled with color as she passed in a blue and red plaid suit coat that cinched around her narrow waist and then flared out over her nave blue pencil skirt.

Her cinnamon colored hair, done in victory rolls, seemed to glitter in the sun under her crimson hat. Her skin reminded him of freshly poured milk. Per he’d never seen milk, but his mind seemed to think that was the color. Her chili colored lips pursed in concentration.

She must have felt him.

He was staring so hard, how could she not have felt his eyes following her?

She stopped, turning slowly on her heal to see him. She held a gloved hand up, her lips pulling into a little smile. Her chocolate eyes brightened.

He felt his hand go up in the tiniest wave. Was she seeing him too? What did he look like to her?

She put one red pump into the street, making her way towards him. His heart quickened as he followed her lead putting one foot out there. It wasn't a wide street and no one was coming. Ten more paces and he’d have her.

He’d never want to leave her—never.

He stretched out her hand to grab hers.

A streak of canary yellow ripped her out of his grasp. A scream, and then another. Breaks squealed as they grinded the small car to a stop. People shouted in horror, but he didn’t hear them. He stood, unable to move; his hand still stretched out, gripping the air, expecting to clasp around a navy blue gloved hand.

Finally, he pulled himself away to look at the scene. Shouldering his way through the crowd, he saw her, lying on the ground. A bloody dribble slowly descended from her mouth. Her milk white legs splayed at awkward angles.

Her black frame eye lashes stared at him. He watched as her navy blue coat suddenly turned a dull brown. Sucking a breath, he dropped to the ground next to her, clutching her hand. He watched as her flaming red shoes became a light grey. Her skin turned to a dull white—like grey scale milk. And finally, the chili color drained from her lips. They were a bland dark grey.

It was all grey scale—everything his eyes touched.






As Always,