After a few days had passed and I had grown tired of the colorless background of the city and the shapeless suggestion of a sun through the mist. Despite the clamor that I could muster with my rubber mouth, the continual flow of the dispirited with their downcast black dots for eyes began to prompt me to further alteration. Were my eyes not identical to theirs? Looking in the mirror, I took up a black marker, and drew irises around the dots, to make them into pupils, and then around those the rest of each eyeball. Then, using a grey marker, I filled in my right iris.
Simultaneously I saw color and I saw only grey. My right eye was orange, and I could see the different colors of the markers. To that I added flecks of red and yellow. Grasping a blue marker, I began on the left eye, and completed that one with flecks of green and purple, and the full spectrum of colors at once came to me in both eyes. I painted green lips to my line of a mouth, and I gave myself eyelashes, and glued pipe cleaners above those for eyebrows.
It dawned on me at that point, that I was bald like everyone else was, and I stapled different colored ribbons to the edges of my mask. I swept them back behind my head and tied them into a knot to hold them into place. I went to my window and looked out at the city with my new vision, and found it lacking. Though I could now see color out in the city, the fog still enveloped everything, dimming out any vibrancy that the sun had to offer.
Disappointed, I sat looking through my mask, at my mask, pondering how I could add more clarity of vision, to see through the murky air. At last, using the black marker, I drew another circle around each eye, and a line connecting them to correct how I saw the outside. The room grew brighter, and a column of light came in through the window. The mist cleared, and the flat cloud cover obscuring the sun separated into patches, letting the color blue dominate.
I walked through the city, enjoying the explosion of pigmentation, noting where patches of grey remained. These I came back to later, and rained buckets of paint on them, whether it was a stone wall, or a flock of pigeons, or the clothes that the people were wearing. Those of course, were all still grey. The colors didn't appear on other peopleĺs clothing, only in my own wardrobe. Amusing though it was to watch people thrash about as I improved their ensembles, and then watch them amble off in weary acceptance, it was no permanent solution to the problem. There were too many of them, and I never did see anyone wearing any colors in the mornings, even weeks later.
I decided that I would discover the reason for this stubbornness at a later time, since I was still thinking of new ways to improve my mask.