I am shades of gray, snarling and clawing at the colors swirling around me.
One swatch, full of confidence, approaches too closely. After a brief but painful moment, it jerks away, but not quickly enough. Its leading edge, once a vibrant hue, is now a dead and dark and dreary gray. The color of fog on a moonless night, it wilts and it rots.
I am shades of gray, watching in awe all of the colors making up the world I inhabit.
I live inside a kaleidoscope, yet I am not a part of it. The colorful blobs don't even notice my existence, and for that I am grateful. I am free to observe the cacophony that surrounds me, without fear of contaminating it. Or it, me.
I am shades of gray, and I am alone.
I am shades of gray, and another swatch of color settles in beside me.
It does not put out feelers. It does not acknowledge my presence at all. It just is, existing at my side. To my left to be precise. It is but the slightest inkling of the faintest memory of the most tenuous presence, yet it is more real than anything else in this, my world.
I try to pull away, but I am too late.
I am shades of gray, but my left edge is tinged with color.
And that color is spreading.