A Myriad of Gray
Color was limited. Half a cell of black, about three-quarters that of white, and a full packet of blue.
Aqua to be exact.
The majesty of it was that the colors could be mixed to form new shades… navy, sky blue, slate, orchid, periwinkle, azure… so many shades of blue. Always blue….
Then there was the vast myriad of gray.
She mixed the colors carefully, but without heart. It seemed a very long time since last she worked the art, another life, long ago. Then it had been an outlet for anxiety in all its forms – an attempt to maintain sobriety in such painful world.
Over the years, colors had trickled through her fingers, along with trust, faith, and, ultimately, hope.
Now, as the world brightened a little every day, she did not know what she could possibly depict. The horrors she had witnessed and things she had lost seemed so out of place now. That which she needed eluded her most.
And you used to be so good at this.
Controlled precision marked skill unhindered by years' latency. Still, the inspiration, and the subject, veiled itself from her mind's eye and her hands took a method of their choosing. She surrendered bravely, blindly, to the essence of creation.
The brush lent itself, dabbing pure black and marking canvas with a perfectly circular dot.
Across the flat, so suddenly came the sound of life. Secreted away were the tools, the means, and the urge.
Tomorrow then.
It was always tomorrow.
---
"Mama!"
The toddler ran, quite steadily for her age, towards the object of her affection. Jane picked the girl up and tucked her underarm with as much care as anything else of the same bulk and weight. The child gurgled happily, for what reason was anyone's guess. The woman didn't care to try; older questions still needed answering.
"Why in hell does she call me that?" Jane wondered aloud, not for the first time and not for the last. She often wondered it, and had taken great lengths to avoid it. Once, she went as far as to explain, with scientific accuracy, the true origin of infants. Aki had found out, much to Jane's horror, when Jennifer asked for 'The Baby Bedtime Story,' and recited it, word-for-word, from memory.
Aki was already anticipating the day when other mothers confronted her for the rhetoric her daughter undoubtedly picked up from the other woman. Her plan was to point to Jane; let them try to solve the problem.
But that day was yet to come. Jennifer had few friends her age; she simply didn't seek them out, even when urged. She adored the retired soldier, and didn't understand the difference.
Which didn't always make sense. Most days Jane tended to act as though the little girl didn't exist.
She dropped Jennifer near her mother, and made to off with the cloth and faux paper bags Aki had brought in.
"The blue one goes under the tree."
Jane paused long enough to deposit 'the blue one,' a paper dyed rich blue – royal blue – by the door of the living room.
It wasn't much of a surprise. Ever since Aki had set up the Christmas tree there, Jane avoided that room. At the time, she had said something about an allergy to pine… which was odd seeing as the tree was a holo….
---
Blue encircled black; an unmixed intensity from both colors. Something about it scared her.
That would have to be remedied.
---
"You can't stay up here forever."
Standing on the balcony, staring into infinity through stars. The moon was a sliver of light setting over the unusually dark cityscape.
Without the barrier, everything was so dark.
"I know you can hear me," the speaker knew better than to argue, "So if you change your mind, Sid will be here either way."
Alone. The darkness was inviting… overwhelming.
---
In the end, Jane accepted the offer, but on her terms. She refused to borrow the doctor's clothes, or to arrive on time.
Instead, she wore the same clothes she wore day in-day out, wear clearly showing through, and they arrived ten minutes late. For some reason, Aki didn't seem to mind. She never did.
Once the scientist disappeared into the crowd, Jane was left to the alien environ. She loitered on the sidelines, watching the gathering with disenchanted interested – wondering how these people could be so alive.
More than her, less than the others.
The convocation was so far set to those in her memory – alien to the woman whose past experience was of the gothic dances in the barracks.
Hey!
"Hey!"
As she sat on the edge, her hands between her knees and knuckles white against the yellow plastic of the chair.
Not this… Please, no more…
Memory overwhelmed; she promised to forget.
The green eyes of a professional snake.
"Kaiser," She almost slipped up. She didn't want it to be him, but someone else… from memory. A namesake, as it were…
Kill me now.
"I didn't know you came to places like this," she might have said the same to him.
I don't.
"Aki invited me," and Jane wondered, if the same was true of him, "She thinks I spend too much time at home."
Although she preferred not to care, she wondered if the scientist had something to do with this.
Someone called the man's name from afar, and Jane shuddered.
---
Blue mixed with white and blue mixed with black shaded the original ring of blue, now circled by white and loose strings of black.
In a burst of understanding, she knew what it was.
She had promised herself to forget.
The razor she used to mix the pigments now came to canvas, hesitant yet enduring, moved through one eye and followed to the other. That which was beautiful to the beholder simply couldn't be. She promised.
---
Christmas morning came to the delight of a very young girl. Aki kept vigil over her daughter's great discovery of the year, while mindful of the mess and certain it was well worth the headaches later.
Jane listened with half a mind from the kitchen table. Not remembering was taking too much effort. Memory leaked through – of cheer and laughter… of paint and blue eyes.
A box with blue ribbon… silver-blue ribbon that was battered with use…
Aki appeared, content with Jennifer being occupied by new things of all kinds.
"I thought you could use some of these. You don't have to think of them in terms of Christmas if you don't want to."
Jane studied the bag – the blue bag – with the silent protest that Aki had come to recognize.
"What am I supposed to do with these?"
"You just happened to wait until now," she had a slightly longer memory than that.
A shrug and a smile…
The good doctor pretended not to notice. She emptied the contents herself, "I noticed you were getting low on paint…"
"Whatever you want."
The paint had been a gift, itself – it lasted her nearly four years.
"…and I thought you could probably do with a little variety in brushes-"
"I mangled my canvas."
"We'll just have to get you a new one," Jane's flat attempt to pass the whole thing off died a miserable death, "And I noticed that notebook by your bed was almost out of space, so…" Aki held up a hardcover book bound in soft cloth as though in explanation.
The scientist finally managed to provoke more of a reaction than she had in almost a year.
"You read my journal?"
"It was kind of an accident," Aki excused the incident, "I didn't know what it was."
Jane forced herself to take a deep breath. The dream book was a practice to promote lucid dreaming – which hadn't been working as of late. She wasn't especially proud of some of the things her dream-state had portrayed recently.
"I don't mean to pry, but… Gray and the others didn't really do that sort of thing, did they?"
Then again, she somewhat deserved the requital. In the time she had lived with Aki, she managed to stumble upon a photo album of a most unusual nature…
"I don't think so," Jane smiled at the thought, "But I kept to myself."
---
A yellowing photograph posed delicately beside her as she balanced a new canvas across his lap.
Armed with a variety of color, she began again.
The End
Working Title: Color
Inspiration: I can't remember offhand... I think I'd wanted to write a Christmas/Winter Holiday story.
Noteworthy: ... Um?
Disambiguation: This runs the same logic as Evanesce. It's kinda a sequel to a story that follows a similar sequence of events, anyhow.
Series: Carthasis; A Myriad of Gray
Derivative work of material © Square Pictures, Squaresoft. Reformatted to abide by 'site standards. None of the original text has been modified, 'cept in case of typo.