I always wanted to escape but I didn’t know how to. Now that I have the opportunity, I feel that there are no limits. There was no achievement in it, it was me just as easily as it could have been anyone else. Since I could not give it back, I had to use it. Otherwise it would have been a waste. At first I made a real mess, but after a few days I got the hang of it. My background in systems helped me to figure out the mechanisms, although everything is a practical matter anyway.
I get to work and people stare at me. It's late but I don't care. Gonzalez, my boss, comes to me and tells me in his usual irritating voice: we have to talk. He never asks me how I’m doing. He doesn't even say hello. He's so mean. They are all the same. We walk into his office and I sit down in front of him. After a pause and a sigh, Gonzalez launches into his usual speech, but this time I cut him short and tell him: today is going to be the worst day of your life. He stares at me, a wandering gaze on his face. I look at his colors: they’re opaque, mostly within the range of grays; I see a brown that would want to be scarlet but cannot, I do not let it. Deep inside, a grayish magenta retains the famous dark blue. I know very well what that color means, and that's why I crack a smile.
It would be a shame if the gray were gone, wouldn't it? I ask him. He still doesn’t get it. After my remark, the burgundy brightens up but I don't let it either, and soon I remove the greyish shade from the magenta. Now nothing can prevent blue from spreading like an all-devouring infection, and now it is easy to get it darker: nostalgia turns into an atrocious melancholy, the worst that Gonzalez had experienced in all his pathetic life.
Blue gradually mixes in with the other colors, and that is why Gonzalez's face changes. The secret is to keep the tonalities opaque. When one does that, sooner or later black emerges, and then there is no turning back.
Gonzalez' blank stare says it all: nothing matters to him anymore, not his job, not his career, not his family. Is something wrong with you? I ask him, though I know what the answer will be. He says no. I get to my feet and leave him alone. I can't help but wonder if he will cut his wrists: I always thought him capable of doing something like that. In an hour, two hours at the most, I will know the answer.
I am about to leave but then another debt comes to my mind. Martina, can you come here for a minute? She responds with apathy. Come on, it's urgent. Martina leaves her cubicle and walks towards me: with every step, I deepen the red and lend the shades of purple an interesting nuance. I look into her eyes and see her pupils are wide, with a look that expresses devotion. I tell her I have a surprise and she smiles like an idiot.
In the bathroom, when I take off her clothes, the red glows more than ever but I must be careful: if I don't encase it in some green everything can get out of control. No doubt, my thing is an art. I always get to the right hue and the party begins. It's incredible how repressed she was. I love it.
I check my cell phone. It’s been half an hour. Before leaving I tell Martina that I will call her later, that she must be patient. She gives me a naughty nod and returns to her cubicle beaming with joy. It’s a good thing green encloses red.
Before I walk away I take a good look at Quique, the doorman. Now I see where his constant grumpiness comes from: a landscape dominated by opaque purples and grayish greens. My father used to say: never fall out with the doormen because they have all the keys. Your life is going to be yellow and bright orange, I tell him, and then Quique gives me a warm smile. I reinforce with a beige and reach my goal of unquestioning loyalty. I ask him for his cell phone number and tell him I need a favor, that I will call him soon. He gives me an obliging and knowing nod. I am close to becoming an expert.
I leave the building, walk away from the entrance and suddenly I hear a crash noise: something sank into the roof of a van. It's Gonzalez, with his skull cracked open. It was only five stories high but he fell head first. Fatal. To jump off a building does make sense, I think. An old woman screams and everyone gathers around. I see how the greys and the burgundies brighten up while the different hues get darker. There's also gloomy green and a couple of reds, because there is always the morbid fascination. I walk away from the scene, I want to relax.
On the way, I have the feeling that everything is a big rainbow that’s getting in my eyes. I go into a store and buy dark glasses. I look at myself in the mirror to see if they fit. In my reflection, I can't find any color, which I find weird. The definition of weirdness has changed a lot in the last few days, and I can't help but laugh when I think that last Friday I was a normal guy with a boring job and a conventional life. All of a sudden I feel a void, the pain of not being able to change my colors, or even see them, but never mind, it’s better to see the glass half full. I continue my promenade, with the certainty that my possibilities are endless.
Bio:
Degree in economics from the University of Buenos Aires. I study at the Sorbonne University Paris 1 but now it is dedicated to more interesting subjects because a lot of economics burns your head. Passionate about cinema and literature.