random englot short stories

Synesthesia

Everything in the world exists in shades of black and white, at least as far as Charlotte Austin can perceive through her amber-colored eyes. To her, vibrant red appears as a dull black, and the warmth of pink dissolves into a muted gray.

At twenty-four, Charlotte has never experienced the vibrant hues that paint life in a spectrum of color. She is unfamiliar with the fiery allure of a burning red or the radiant warmth of bright yellow. The cool tranquility of blue remains an abstract notion. To her eyes, everything is a stark palette of black, white, and gray--nothing more.

Her perception is limited by the starkness of her vision, shaping not only how she sees the world but also how she interprets it. And her inability to perceive a spectrum of colors limits her understanding of deeper meanings, including love.

Charlotte Austin is a big fan of Taylor Swift, and it might sound ironic, but her favorite songs are "Red" and "Daylight." It's funny, considering she has no idea what red or daylight looks like in a normal spectrum.

Losing him was blue, like I'd never known. She struggles to grasp that meaning.

Missing him was dark gray, all alone. At least she understands that.

But loving him was red. Is red a good thing or not? Books often view love as red. Hearts are of color red, but so is blood.

I once believed love would be black and white, but it's golden. Is it? Or is it truly black and white?

She's unsure.

All she knows is black and white--perhaps that's all it will ever be for her.

Charlotte takes her usual morning walk to her favorite coffee shop, a place she's discovered almost three years ago, known for its theme of black and white. At last, she finds a spot where she feels she belongs.

As she enters, a small smile creeps across her face. The familiar faces of the barista and staff greet her, brightening her morning, even in its monochrome world.

She approaches the counter and orders her standard: a black coffee and a dark chocolate cake. The barista smiles back, and Charlotte turns to head toward her usual spot in the café.

She pulls out the book she is currently reading, feeling a bit less small as she begins where she left off last night. Reading always puts her at ease, with printed text on paper, she doesn't need to see colors to understand the story.

With words, she finds comfort, as they allow her to understand the deeper meanings of everything--a connection she can't make with her color-blind eyes.

The chatter around the coffee shop grows louder, and the atmosphere becomes increasingly buzzing as time passes.

After a few minutes, she hears footsteps approaching. Not looking up, she keeps her eyes locked on her book when suddenly, the person walking toward her trips over a chair that isn't tucked in properly. The tray in the woman's hand tumbles, spilling coffee all over Charlotte and her book.

Charlotte lets out a squeal as the hot liquid splashes her sleeves.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry!" a woman's voice rushes out in a flurry of apologies.

As that voice reaches Charlotte's ears, a wave of sensation washes over her, and bursts of color overwhelm her vision.

Her eyes widen as she looks at her white sleeve, now stained with a dark shade--coffee.

She scans the table and sees not just black and white or gray, but something much more vibrant and beautiful than she ever imagined.

Finally, she looks up at the woman she suspects is responsible for the phenomenon--and the stain on her shirt and book.

The woman has long, straight hair tied in a ponytail, her round, beautiful eyes wide with worry and concern. She wears a white button-up shirt and a black apron.

Charlotte has never seen her around here before.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Are you okay?" the woman asks again, and as she does, Charlotte's surroundings become much brighter. The overwhelming colors she can't name begin to invade her vulnerable eyes.

Suddenly, Charlotte sees strings of vibrant colors dancing around the room, and in the back of her mind, she wonders if she's the only one witnessing this masterpiece. Maybe she is.

"I'm so sorry for your shirt," the woman continues, and with her words, everything around Charlotte becomes even more colorful and beautiful.

As the woman speaks, the colors swirl around Charlotte, almost as if they are dancing to the rhythm of her beautiful voice. Each of her word seems to correspond to a unique hue.

What is this feeling? Why is her heart pounding so fast?

Her gaze remains fixed on the woman in front of her, mesmerized and wonderstruck.

"Who are you?" after a moment of silence, Charlotte finally manages to ask, her eyes still locked on the mysterious woman's beautiful face.

"I'm Engfa, Engfa Waraha," the woman replies with a smile.

Charlotte has never seen the color gold before. But as soon as she hears the woman's name, she doesn't just see it, she feels it.

It's golden, like daylight.