A Splash of Color

On his 11th birthday, Nicholas woke up at 7:18. He didn’t have to get dressed; slept with his gray school clothes on, and it never got crumpled. He didn’t have to make the bed, either; it was always pristine. It was the one thing he liked about his birthdays. Before going downstairs, Nicholas looked out the bedroom window. The sky was gray, as usual. The breakfast was boring, as always. The whole family was already at the table, Nicholas noted. His dad, in a worn gray suit and tie, back from one of his endless business trips. His mom is her finest gray dress and jewelry, surprisingly sober. His brother in his favorite sports jacket, his new college’s gray mascot on the back. Nicholas didn’t feel like eating, so decided to look through his presents instead. It was the usual fair: some toys, a pocket knife, some useless souvenir from dad, a baseball from his brother, signed by a random player Nicholas didn’t care about… There was even a gray puppy from his mom, sitting in the corner. It didn’t bark anymore; it just sat in the corner and whimpered quietly. Nicholas left that pile of presents behind and walked to the table, where his favorite present lay. His whole family gave it to him, with the most sincere smiles they could manage. Mom mentioned it cost them a lot of money, or something. Nicholas wasn’t sure he was meant to hear it, but that didn’t matter now. The present was a simple vial, like the ones Nicholas saw at the hospital when they took his blood tests. It had a gray sticker with some strange symbol on it. Nicholas was pretty sure it was the Greek letter “omega”, tilted to the side. He knew his Latin, unlike the idiot who wrote it. There was some other text, a bunch of letters and numbers, but Nicholas didn’t want to waste time on that nonsense. The vial was empty now, but the glass still had a bright sheen to it, like an oil slick from another planet. Nicholas admired it for a second or two, and put the vial back on the table. Nicholas turned back to his family, reciting the same “Happy Birthday!” speeches they'd been rehearsing for the last few days. He’d learned to tune them out by now, but... Who knows? Maybe they came up with something new for a change. “Please, son! Whatever I did, whatever I said, I’m sorry! Please, let us out, ple~~” “Nick, baby, we beg you! We’ll take you to Disneyland, if you want! I’ll get Hero to sign your school bag! Just, please~~” “Bro, I’m sorry ‘bout the autograph, alright! And I’m sorry for dumping that bucket of syrup on you last month! It was just a dumb prank, honest! Please~~” Nope. Same broken record as always. Such a shame.

***

The house was boring, so Nicholas decided to get some fresh air. Nicholas had school at 8 o’clock, but he didn’t feel like going. It was his birthday, after all. Plus, school was just as boring as his home. Instead, he decided to go play with some kids in the park. His dad’s gray car broke down a few days ago, and dad didn’t have time to give him a lift, so Nicholas decided to walk instead. On his way to the park, he passed another gray car that broke down right in the middle of the road. Its wheels turned in place, but the car just wouldn’t go. Every once in a while, the driver would blow the horn frantically, then go quiet. It’s not even 8 in the morning, Nicholas though. So inconsiderate. A couple of layabouts in gray tracksuits shouted at Nicholas. He paid them no mind. Some people just had nothing better to do than stand around at random kids, he figured. Weirdos.

***

The town park was just as Nicholas remembered it. The gray trees swayed gently in the wind, their gray leaves rustling in a slightly jagged melody, and a few gray birds exchanged their short, pretty songs. As he walked, Nicholas noticed old man Hendrickson, still sitting on his favorite bench. He was holding a packet of seeds, even though the pigeons hadn't come to the bench in days. The old man was even more quiet than usual. His eyes were focused on a gray leaf, dancing in circles on the ground. Nicholas wasn’t sure what the old man was seeing, or if he saw anything at all anymore. Finally, Nicholas heard a couple of familiar voices. His classmates. The playground was near. Soon, Nicholas was looking at the playground itself. It was a simple affair: a sandy floor, a few slides, a jungle gym in dire need of repainting… And the source of the voices. The best attraction of all. The ones Nicholas came here to see. Three boys stood near the jungle gym. They were truants and troublemakers from Nicholas’s school, and this was their favorite spot for playing hooky. They were two brothers, Tommy and Jimmy, and their ringleader - Will. Tommy was lanky, with long hair, and Jimmy was fat and had a buzzcut. Will, meanwhile, was big, almost a head taller than each of the brothers, as well as Nicholas himself. Will rode a bus to school, rarely wore nice clothes, and Nicholas heard his house was just one story tall. However, he was stronger than most boys in his class and thought it gave him the right to pick on everyone. Until just a few days ago, this included Nicholas. Not anymore. Nicholas didn’t bother with Tommy and Jimmy. The two got stale long ago. Tommy gave up on words and has spent the last two or three days sobbing quietly. Jimmy, meanwhile, was trying to pray. At least, Nicholas thought so. The words got harder to make out after he tested his knife on Jimmy's tongue. That left Will. Nicholas approached Will, slowly. The bully was wearing his ugly gray T-shirt with some band logo and a pair of gray ripped jeans. As always, his eye darted towards Nicholas. “Hey snot! Wha~~ Shit! Fuck! Get away from me, you little psycho! Fu~~ Hey snot! Wha~~” As always, before Will could even finish his, no doubt, profound statement, he snapped back to the same pose Nicholas found him in. It was like the universe itself decided to rewind an obnoxious bully-shaped recording, except it happened in an instant - and the loop continued on, and on, and on... Nicholas smiled, but noted some room for improvement. He focused and, with a little effort, stretched Will’s loop out to a minute or so. He’ll need time to talk, after all. With that done, Nicholas reached for his trusty pocket knife. “Hey snot! Wha~~ Fuck! Please! Sno… Nick, I’m begging! Just get that fucking thing away from me~~” “Oh, quit your whining,” – Nicholas interrupted him gently, bringing the knife closer and closer to Will’s remaining eye. Will took the hint and shut up. “You act like the biggest bastard in town, but as soon as trouble starts, you cry like a little girl. Pathetic.” Nicholas stared Will straight in the eye, for emphasis. The look of sheer dread Nicholas got was sublime. That’s what he imagined the cocktails in his mom’s special recipe book tasted like. “So, Will. Would you like me to put the knife away? At least for a while?” Will gave a shaky nod. His face was gray with terror. “Well, that would be simple. You’ll just have to tell me an interesting story.”

***

Will's story wasn’t too interesting, but after a while, Nicholas decided to leave his secon eye in place. His stroll in the park was over, and Nicholas was walking home. As he walked past the yelling layabouts, he wondered where to go next. The cinema? No. The only films they had were some weird shorts, all in gray. European, maybe. Besides, the crowd was too loud and rowdy nowadays. The arcade? No. The cabinets got all gray and glitchy. Plus, Nicholas didn’t bring any loose change. The mall? No. For some reason, it was completely empty. As usual, his birthday was shaping up to be a disappointment. Nicholas was approaching the broken car in the middle of the road – currently in its quiet stage – when he noticed something truly unusual. Or, rather, someone. Standing next to the gray car, leaning against its front door, was a man. No, not just a man, Nicholas thought; a real prince, straight out of a fairytale. The man was tall and muscular, locks of curly blond hair almost reaching his shoulders. His clothes looked like one of those 18th century nobles Nicholas saw in his history books or in TV period dramas: all blue and purple, with golden buttons and floral patterns. Expensive jewelry glimmered all over his body, in many shades of gold, silver and platinum: the rings on his fingers, the necklaces and medallions on his neck, the magnificent gen-encrusted crown that sat upon his head. A heavy red cape was draped over the prince’s broad shoulders. Blue and purple. Gold. Red. Nicholas did a double take. He’d forgotten when he last saw colors other than gray. The prince smiled and approached him. It wasn’t a nice smile, Nicholas noted. More like the smile a fox gives a cornered chicken. Good thing Nicholas wasn’t a chicken. “Good afternoon, young man!” - the prince greeted him, the cheer in his voice not quite hiding the hungry glint in his eyes. “Could you, perhaps, spare a minute or two to discuss a matter of mutual interest?” Nicholas returned a smile of his own. “I’ll spare you a minute,” he thought. “Soon, you’ll have every minute in the world”. Before the prince could react, Nicholas made a “finger gun” gesture with his right hand and fired. The prince should have instantly gone gray, forever trapped in a time loop, like all the other boring people in this town. Another birthday present for Nicholas to play with. Instead, he remained blue, purple, gold and red. His smile grew wider, more vicious. Interesting, Nicholas thought. “Don’t bother, boy. Leave your powers for the peons,” the prince warned him. His tone was surprisingly calm, with what Nicholas swore was a hint of fondness. “However, this demonstration was quite… enlightening. But first, I believe it’s time for an introduction. What is your name, boy?” Nicholas introduced himself. The prince nodded. “And what about you?” Nicholas asked back. “Are you a prince, or something?” “You aim too low, boy,” the not-prince replied with a quiet, menacing chuckle. “I am the King, both in name and in power. And you, Nicholas, have proven without a doubt to be the exact kind of person I’m seeking for my grand new enterprise.” “Enterprise?” Nicholas finally responded. Was this one of those business meetings dad would always talk about? “What kind of ‘person’?” “What kind?” King let out a hearty laugh. “Monsters, Nicholas. The wolves who strike primal fear into the hearts of sheep. The lords who bring the worthless peasants to heel and then stomp them into bloody paste. The monsters who aren’t afraid of becoming gods.” Nicholas listened quietly. He didn’t care much for wolves or gods, but he hadn’t ground anyone into paste before. Perhaps it would be worth a try. “And that is what my enterprise is about, Nicholas,” King continued, clearly enchanted by the future world he was describing. “To gather a group of remarkable individuals who share my vision. A retinue of the greatest monsters this sad little world has ever known! After all, even a king can’t rule without his court, now, can he?” Finally, King seemed to have remembered about his intended audience. He regained his composure and turned his attention back to Nicholas. “So, Nicholas, what is your answer? Would you like my court of murder?” Nicholas pondered the offer for a bit. He’ll have to leave his hometown behind - his family, the park, the playground… But things were getting boring here already. His birthdays came and went, but everything else stayed the same. The world was big. So many things to see, so many people to play with. “Yes,” Nicholas answered simply. “Will I get to grind people into paste?” King beamed at the news, glimmers of upcoming murder dancing in his eyes. “Oh, you will, Nicholas. And so, so much more than that! I’ll show you games that you’ve never even dreamed of.” King offered Nicholas his hand, and Nicholas shook it. It was done. “Only one thing remains,” King said. “‘Nicholas’ is a fine name, but it’s the name of a peasant. If you wish to embrace your destiny, you’ll need a new name.” Nicholas thought about it, then shrugged. It could be a nice change of pace. “Beings of our stature don’t need grand names”, the prince continued. “Our names are simple, descriptive. We give our names power, not the other way around.” He looked Nicholas over, head to toe. “How do you feel about… Gray Boy?” Once again, Nicholas – Gray Boy – shrugged. The name changed, but the world didn’t shatter. In the end, it was still him. Nicholas took King’s hand, and the two of them continued down the road, past the broken car, past Nicholas’s old home. King talked about his plans, about the people he wanted Nicholas to meet and the Hell he wanted Nicholas to unleash. Nicholas dreamed about the great wide world, painted a million shades of gray. At long last, his 11th birthday was getting interesting.