Many years ago, the world was full of vibrant colors. Reds, blues, greens, yellows, oranges, purples. Things that made the world shine, that made everything unique, that made people who they are. All was well in the world. That is, until things went south. Those who could not have the luxuries, that so many craved for, grew mad with envy. Jealousy oozed from every street corner, glaring at those with perfect eyes and luscious hair. Overtime, people began to take action in getting what they wanted. Muggings, beatings, killings for what they had that the other did not. Then one day, as if the world went crazy,  it all went away. No, not the violent actions-- that came soon after. The colors faded from the eyes of the many.  All the vibrant colors that they cherished so dearly, gone as though life were and old black and white movie, a grayscale, monotone world.

It began simply was a trait found within newborns, dubbed a new form of colorblindness, a phenomenon that many blamed on pollution within the water and air that had passed through the mother to the child. Soon enough, the elder generations began to find themselves in similar situations. The red from objects such as hydrants and phone booths faded first, followed by colors with the color itself mixed in, revealing the others that went into them entirely. Green was next, slipping from the tallest trees and from the withering grass beneath tiny toes. Finally, blue escaped with a crash of a tsunami along a coastline near the Indian Ocean. The world itself went dark, all color in the eyes of the many had gone forever.

Hysteria broke out, to put it lightly. Hospitals had been crowded with many claiming to have gained this colorblindness from pollution and the air as a whole. The people tried so hard to figure out why the colors had gone, for the event sent many crazy over the sudden awakening. Scientists did many tests, including attempting to use artificial coloring on objects that once were vibrant and full of life, but the objects remained the same, and no detectable difference was obvious to the naked eye. No one could explain the situation logically, no matter how hard they tried to find a solution. Over time, those who felt the need to preach to someone spoke of a man called the “Artist”, putting the blame on the unknown force above.

Those born into the generation of black and white never got the chance to see such beautiful lives, and forever had to live by the descriptions of their parents and grandparents.

         “Red… Red was always a warm, angry color. Like…the warmth of flames; it’s like that.”

         “Yellow was always a bright and happy colors, blinding those who stared into it. Just as the sun burns looking into it too long.”

Needless to say, it was hard for children and grandchildren to comprehend the situation. But besides the lack of color, there was one thing no one could ever explain: Why those like Ryland Everston could selectively see colors.

Elise Vance and Ryland were childhood friends, raised together by their mothers from diapers. Always together, laughing, playing and joking as children, going to various parties and movies as teenagers. As children, the two had simply accepted the grayscale world, not defying their mother's orders to steer clear of those who so desperately clung to the previous life. Simply, the two enjoyed their time as children and never doubted the ways.

But as they aged into teenagers, Elise began to defy her mother’s previous orders. She began to question the ways and the means of the “Artist” of the sky. She’d become one of those who made reasons for every aspect of the “Artists” choice. She’d also begun to paint, hoping that one day her canvas would spring to a vibrant masterpiece. To the blues, yellows, reds and greens that her teachers preached about.

Ryland, however, cared little for the mystery behind colors and such things as the “Artist”. He simply cared for his friends and family, not bothering to care for a long while. But within the blink of an eye, his sixteen-year-old viewpoint altered.

After years and years of being around the frizzy haired girl, years of denial, and years of being forced around each other, his views changed for what seemed the better. Now, he was in love. It was crazy to think that the male had found himself thinking in such ways he had yet to before. He admired the sparkle in her moonlit eyes, the way her silver lips would curl up as she laughed as smooth as honey, how each black lash stood out without the help of mascara. No lust, just a deep admiration that he could only describe one way. 

It was mid-spring when everything began to change. The dull flowers were blooming, birds singing their melodic tunes, the gray grass swaying in the light breeze, and children beginning to come out from their lively hibernation. All was well in the eyes of anyone who views.  Ryland, himself, had seemingly believed the world to be the same as normal, until came time for Elise to arrive. From the moment his lifelong friend knocked on the oak door, his stomach twist. At first, he figured it was the new found feelings for the girl with the silver moons for eyes. But with a creak of the now open door, he found himself feeling hysterical.

Elise couldn’t help but pull a frown onto those lips that naturally curved into a bright smile, watching her dear friend with curiosity shining in her mini-moons. She took a moment to look at the gray dress she’d chosen, down to her white flats with the little black bows on them, before reaching to the back of her head to be sure her midnight bow had not come undone in her recently tamed haired, “Something wrong, Ryland?”

Ryland simply stared at her hand reaching through tamed curls, rubbing his eyes furiously before shaking his head, “Bit of a fainting spell, I suppose.” 

Though Elise would have none of it. Her lips suddenly curled into a teasing smirk, hands lacing together behind her back as she leaned onto the tips of toes towards the eyes that forever reminded her of the softly swaying grass beneath bare toes, “What? Am I suddenly beautiful to you now?” The sarcasm in her voice was quite subtle, hidden behind a fit of innocent giggles.

“Oh come off it, Elise,” Ryland muttered, running a hand through his own messy, black hair. Truth be told, he wasn’t dizzy at all. Elise, to put it simply, was no long the grayscale girl he grew up with. Sure, her eyes still held the color of a shining full moon, her skin still remained that icy silver Ryland himself held, and her clothing still remained dull. But atop her beautiful little head was no longer its silver glory. No, it was warm, passionate, like flames licking off the ash that was her skin. A color his mother had told him was her favorite, red.

There truly was no explanation for why her red hair was the only visible color to him, why his eyes saw no warmth in the red chair his mother loved, why Elise’s paintings still held nothing but grayscale colors. He could tell no one of this passionate color that shone vibrantly in his eyes, for he’d be every scientist’s latest lab rat. That’s what happened to the poor bloke who spoke of his late wife’s beautiful liquid eyes. Or the woman who cried at the sight of her deceased son’s caramel teddy bear. So for all his life, Ryland Everston would live, not knowing why his childhood love’s hair was so warm and inviting to him.

And when the time came of Elise Vance’s early passing, it was to be expected that he’d cry, it was a given as her childhood friend and first love. It was expected for him to take her masterpiece into his own home. But no one understood why Ryland Everston whispered words of her vibrant, freshly tamed curls across the white canvas… or what he meant when he spoke of her warmth drowning in the dripping gasoline across the skid marked highway.