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I remember the day. That day. I don’t remember seeing the lights, but I remember hearing the voices. They said there was lights, beautiful lights. They surrounded the air like fairies--these bubbles of floating gases.

I was too focused on the voices to pay attention. I would have enjoyed the lights, but something else had taken over me. I counted the days with my heartbeats. One by one they added up, two by two, three by three, numbers and hours.




A summer. I was promised a summer. No, not promised. I predicted a summer. This was longer than a summer. I feel. . . watched. I feel as though they are watching me, always watching me, in every corner of every perspective--they are waiting for my intervention.

The balance has shifted.

The day the voices came was the day that something snapped within me. My eyes opened. And all I saw, was grey.

Grey was everywhere. I never knew there could be so much grey in the world, but there it was, there it is. Here it is.

Not pink, not love. Not black, not numbness. Not red, not anger. Not yellow, not friendship.

Not white, not hope.


The colour, the shade, that makes me stand here now. With my hands tied behind my back, with my eyes glaring forwards, with the world screaming at me the words that I couldn’t begin to find--with the strength of acknowledging something worth all of the colours I long for.

Yet, grey is all I see, it is all I am, it is all that surrounds me as I face the final test that will finally grant me my freedom.

Watching him die.

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