Monochrome

1

         The rain drizzled haphazardly against the sidewalk, paying no heed to the black-clad man who dodged in between the marching figures. Each face that passed the man was as grey as the clouded sky, though laced with the slight swirls and whorls of a rainstorm that hinted into their owner’s true hearts. But of course, to the man, they were still strangers. The lack of colour in the world camouflaged all, blending them seamlessly against the ashen aridity of their surroundings.

        He pulled his raincoat tighter against his chest, careful to avoid collision, as such an occurrence would spoil the blissful loneliness of his isolation. Not that he had any interest in any nascent, fleeting glimpses of humanity because, truly, what could the man glean from a world that is as black and white as the printed words of a book? Dark contrasting against light, screaming against each other yet echoing together in the space they inhabit. No, the man was sure: the life of the achromatic left no room for any other half. His window to the world of anything more was slammed shut by his inability to see past the grey. After all, it was a matter of perspective - self-borne - and to him, he was safe in keeping alone. The light inside himself could never be tarnished by the black shadows that seep like tar into a pure soul.   

        At least, that was what he told himself.

        The man glanced down at his watch, frowning slightly as he tried to discern it’s ticking silver hands against the pale monochrome of his own skin. It had taken more time to navigate the crowded sidewalk than he’d expected. He would have to skip his morning paper.

        Deflating slightly, he trudged forward, no longer bothering to avoid bumping into fellow commuters. The flow of blank faces had ebbed slightly, trickling into a meagre collection of characters that perhaps had none. He wondered if there were any other late figures among the crowd. Or perhaps the rest of them were unbound by commitment - after all, the elated symptoms of a free heart are not clear in a world that lacks colour.

        What unrequited blissfulness an unfettered heart must enjoy? Liberated from the dredgings of daily life, the greyness, the blank stares, the nothingness. A world of colour, bursting with disentangled plenty in the direction of one’s dreams. Unbeknownst to himself, the man sighed - a slight, imperceptible gesture. His mind wanted roots, but his heart wanted wings; and his eternal solution had been to ignore the wishes of both…. because frankly, he could not bear their bickering.

        Enough. The man shook his head to chase away his musings. Silly thoughts. His disgruntlement grew swiftly from this point - exponentially, really - egged on by the suddenly bite of unwelcomed loneliness that seemed to pang through his being. He always felt this way when he considered a world of more than grey. Sure, isolation suited him, but he did not relish being reminded of this fact. He prefered to imagine it was a disease that ate away the lives of everyone else, too. So he fixed a firmer frown onto his grey face, and took pains to project an aura of irrefutable indifference.

        His gait had grown more careless as he increased his tempo. A glance at his watch. A curse. Yet another mark of tardiness on his record.

        Slam.

        Suddenly the man felt his world lurch to the left, grey blurring against grey as he slid into his fall. His belongings went tumbling across the pavement, his coat flapping forward in a messed heap, and worst of all, his watch slamming against the concrete with a sickening crack.

        The first thing he checked was the watch.

        To his mild amusement, he found it completely intact. The plain face stared back at him, continuing it’s dull, perpetual tick. Such was the infallibility of timelessness. One could never beat it into ineptitude.