Grayscale Part Two.

Grayscale is a series of short stories that look into the lives of others, seeing the world as they do, peering through the windows of their lives. Is it black and white? If you missed Part One, read it here.

The sky was a peculiar shade of dull today, as it was the day before, and the one before that. Streaming in through the window pane, its shadow cast demons on the wall. The blue hue from the nightlight shone down on the old analog clock that never moved. Six o’clock. Tick-tock. It droned on all day. The only point of having that clock was to determine the level of fatigue present today. Would he sleep until noon? 1pm? 5pm? Would he get out of bed at all? The world may never know. Then again, what would be the point of getting up anyway?

Work wasn’t far away. Not far away, but a million miles from home. If I don’t get up today, I might not get up tomorrow, and that’ll make two days of work I’ve missed. The hands on the clock clasped together at the top, like a prayer sent to heaven. Noon. No shower today, there’s no point in going to work now, anyway. He walked past the blue walls of his bathroom, and fatigue began to set in. As the pizza heated up, he watched it go ‘round and ‘round. Just as he watched his own life. He had been a spectator for many years, since 14, actually. He turned the TV on, not because he wanted to watch anything, but some noise needed to distract him from his own thoughts. As sat down on the couch, unloading his burden next to him on the soft sofa, he wondered if it would ever get better, if anything would change. Ah well, there was no point in bothering with the effort it took to change, anyway. The TV droned on, the blue static filling the air with its rumblings, coating the walls.

Silence.

Alone.

Alone with my thoughts, alone with the world.

And what a world it is, indeed. For what do I owe the pleasure of being here? I cannot contribute nor take away anything from my time that I’ve been sentenced on this earth. It’s death row, without warning, and without the last meal.

The pizza got cold by the time he realized he hadn’t eaten it. It didn’t really matter anyway, he wasn’t sure he had a favorite anything, anymore; he didn’t miss anything by not eating the pizza, nor by not going to work, nor by refusing to shower today, nor by turning his phone off last week, nor by dreaming up the plan in his head currently. He hadn’t, and he won’t miss anything.

Passing the blue walls of the bathroom once again, the clock hands were hugging at the top. The sun did not shine, however. The world was dark. The moon turned her head as the weight lifted off his shoulders, the burden was gone. There was a way out. He walked into the closet with a smile on his face, and some moments later, for the first time, the world faded to black.