Gray Matter -

Elias watched from the window as the first spark of blue moved through the gray tide. He picked up a charcoal stick. He had no more paint, but he finally remembered how to draw the light.

Clara gasped. The sound wasn't flat; it had a sharp, jagged edge of surprise. As she stared at the blue, a faint pink flush crept back into her cheeks. The gray around her feet began to retreat, revealing the brown of the hardwood floor. Gray Matter

Elias looked at his single tube of blue. He knew the science—or the lack of it. The Gray Matter was a psychic feedback loop. The more gray the world became, the more gray people felt, and the more color bled out to feed the void. To stop it, someone had to provide a "chromatic shock." "Hold out your hands," Elias said. Elias watched from the window as the first

The Gray Matter didn't just take color; it took the feeling associated with it. Without red, there was no rage or passion. Without yellow, no warmth or caution. The world was becoming quiet, polite, and entirely hollow. Clara gasped

"Keep it moving," Elias urged, his own voice cracking with rediscovered grit. "Color isn't a thing you have, Clara. It's a thing you do."

A knock came at his door. It was Clara, a neighborhood girl who used to wear neon-green sneakers. Now, she was a monochrome ghost.