You run to the bathroom. You can't remember the last time you had a pair of sunglasses; when you got kicked out, you pretty much only had the clothes on your back. Whatever you had, you either borrowed from a friend or shoplifted. You never scored sunnies, though. For some reason, they were always behind glass doors and never worth the risk. You feel giddy as you slide them over the bridge of your nose and look at yourself in the mirror. They are absolutely stunning. They're so dark that when you put them on, they block out all of the colors in the bathroom. Suddenly, everything is turned into shades of black and white. Everything is monochromatic now, well, more so than it already was. You peel back the shower curtain to see what the red bathtub looks like in the black lenses. You instantly fall backward in shock and horror. Everyone always checks the shower curtain for a monster or a killer. Yourself among them. However, no matter how many times you find yourself checking, instinctively pulling back the curtains if only to relieve yourself of your silly, seemingly irrational fears, nobody, yourself included, is ever actually prepared to confront a monster or a killer in your bathtub. And that is exactly what you found. There, looming over you, leaning down with its large, long, pointed fingertips to you, was a monster. A real monster, you could see every black and white stripe of its shirt, every button on its pants, every frayed hem. It was so aggressively real you screamed and crawled frantically backward as the creature stepped out of the bathtub and onto the tiles in the bathroom, closer to you. Its lanky body was seemingly able to close the gap with a single second step. The tinted glass falls from your face in your mad dash to get away, and as they do, the creature vanishes. Just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone, completely. The bathroom was silent aside from the sounds of your own heavy breathing as you grabbed the glasses and stumbled out into the hallway. The house is much too monochromatic for you to feel any real sense of comfort, the only source of which coming from the pops of red and color pooling in from the windows, the only promise that you are, in fact, anchored in reality. You slam the bathroom door behind you and run barefoot out into the front yard. You know you're shaking, and you don't care if anybody sees it. You look at the sunglasses you clutch in your hands and wonder aloud, '...what the fuck was that?'.
