Today we have a piece from Writers Forum member Jennifer Levens.
We especially love to run fiction pieces from Writers Forum members on Mondays. See below for submission details.
The Colors of My Life
I see it on the counter, then it is in my hand. I hold it as I draw a glass of water and then…. I place it on my tongue and swallow. There, I took it. There are twenty-nine more of them, one for every day, and then I am ‘new’.
Everybody is doing it or has done it. I am one of the last. Is being all one color going to change prejudices? I don’t know. It won’t change how I feel. I always thought it was stupid to hate the inventor of peanut butter because he was brown. Oh, and to hate people who revere our celestial home just because they had a good suntan and so on. Seems to me the colorless ones have done the most damage to the Earth and humanity through greed and avarice and hate. They have perpetuated their existence by stepping on all others less powerful than they. I don’t think it is the solution to the problem, but the pills were free to the entire population so everyone on Earth could take them. They are the cure to strife and hatred in society, but I don’t think that will work. Side effects, lots of side effects but I don’t feel any yet.
Day Three and nothing is happening. This is typical according to my friends and what I have read. Oh yes, I did my research. I hate putting new things in my body without the research. I have to go to the Darknet, you know. The regular one is so full of BS.
Day Seven and nothing seems to be happening. I am still me; no changes, well I pee more but nothing else. No pains or aches I didn’t have before. Oh God, please don’t let me be in the one percent. I mean what are the odds? I was never there before when it meant more wealth and power than any one person should have. Well, you see, if you were in the one percent, you were obscenely wealthy and powerful, but that fell with the Fall Revolution of 2024. Over three hundred of the richest C.E.O.’s died and the chickens..t subordinates didn’t want to be next. Who said Napoleon was wrong? Knock off one or two generals and the rest will fall into line.
Day Twelve and still nothing. I should be seeing something. A tinge, a change, but I see nothing. I colored my hair yesterday. Couldn’t stand the dirty brown anymore. It has honey blond streaks and looks really good for a home job. Oh well, maybe I am in the one percent. Just my luck. I get flu shots and then get the flu. I exercise and lift weights and then trip over the dog and break my hip. Not as bad as it sounds. Everything came out fine and my hip doesn’t hurt anymore, but I’m just saying….
Day Fifteen. I look in the mirror and see the freckles where the sun has kissed my cheek. I wish the sun would kiss me enough to merge the freckles into a nice suntan. That may not be the necessary outcome, but earlier on it would have been nice.
Day Seventeen and I am still the same. I have a runny nose, not a given side effect of the pill. Probably an allergy to the outdoors. I went out yesterday to the backyard. It was such a mess, so I cut everything back. No more fire hazard, but now my nose runs.
I don’t go out to the street these days. Differences you know. It’s too much trouble to cover every inch of my body. Might as well be wearing a burka. I would still look out of place, different. No, I pay by card and have deliveries made at the door-no contact. Reminds me of the pandemic of 2020-2023. Now that was change and not necessarily for the better. So much change but no solutions. I think it is time that we move on before we really do move on. Mother Earth must be telling us something. Plagues, natural disasters, global warming, fires extreme heat and cold in all the wrong places. Come on, humans, heed the call.
Day Twenty-one and still no change. I have to get some more groceries in here. I wonder if the market will still deliver to me. I look out the window and see a myriad of people walking the sidewalks, traveling in cars. Stores are open. Everything is open, just not me. Society is flourishing, just not me. I don’t want to go out. I don’t want to be a statistic. Being different is not good.
I can work from home. I choose not to use a camera when I give my reports. I tell them that I am seriously disfigured from a grease fire and won’t be able to be seen until I am fixed. It is okay to work from home. I get everything done before breakfast in the morning and then just while away the day doing handcrafts and watching the telly. Oops! I am watching too many
British shows, but they are so good, the old ones that is. Color doesn’t translate too well in the new ones.
Day Twenty-seven and still nothing. My friends tell me that they changed between day Fifteen and day Twenty-six. If anything I have even less color than before. I am really pale. The good news is that the grocery still delivers and so does Amazon, but I am all puzzled out and one can have only so many toys before they to become boring and old hat, so that is why I am journaling. Thought a record of my ‘change’ would be fun to read twenty years from now. It is helping though. My mind is less crowded with downer thoughts. The differences that I see on the shall we say Internet are too much for me. And you know what the arguments have not ceased. There are now colonies of Non-changers who are all different colors, but they are in co-ops like the old Hippies of the twentieth century had. That must have been an exciting time. They wanted change too. They succeeded more than they knew. It wasn’t all sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll. There were some real considerations made in politics and the environment. Then with the elections of money hungry war mongering politicians, the picture changed and started to support the true capitalistic picture of Fascism where the organization reigned supreme and to hell with the little guy but forget all of that. Maybe this isn’t all political. Too bad the Paleface couldn’t see that the problem was his to fix in his own basic concept of self and not the responsibility of the beautiful colors that populated the Earth to change that concept.
Me not so much. I am not there. Nothing has changed for me, nothing, nothing, nothing. I would give anything for just a tinge of color. Well, maybe it is not to be. I wonder if there is makeup to hide behind? I’ll check it out on the ‘net.
Day Thirty and the pills are gone, and nothing has happened. I am in the one percent! I will not go out again. I checked on the makeup, but it is easily detected so it is not an option for me. My life is over. I have heard what happens to those who did not change. I have seen on the television. I have read in the on-lines. I cannot go out. I will never be accepted. I never turned blue.
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