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...67%...
The loading bar blinked at me. It had been stuck on that number for a good few minutes or so and I was getting sick to death of watching it, but what else could I do? It locked down my whole computer to do this system update, and my computer was my life. I'm a software technician for the government, you see. I'm working on this new top-secret project and they keep forcing security checks and updates on our systems every few hours. I can't stand it. There's nothing else to do here and with the computer locked down it's almost like being in purgatory.
We were recruited straight out of university, my fellow colleagues and I. Lured with promises of a big fat paycheck and free room and board. All the health benefits you could possibly think of. They forgot to mention that the 'free room and board' was provided in an underground facility. That's a secret too; even I didn't know where I was. They blindfolded me to bring me here.
The paycheck had been everything they said it was at least, but I had never really been sure how much use a six-figure salary was when there was nothing to spend it on. I hadn’t even been able to figure out a way to send it to my family. I'd not had any word from them since I’d been here, although I must have mailed at least a letter a week. I didn’t even know if they were getting them. I hoped they were alright. No doubt they could use the money more than me. I made a mental note to ask them about that next chance I got. Again. Maybe they would answer me this time. Maybe I would actually get to speak to a real human being.
...68%...
Oh good, it started moving again.
...68%...
I jinxed it, huh? Oh well. I spun my chair around violently, hoping to get some sort of adrenaline rush to keep me occupied. It didn't work. There wasn't even much difference between the stark white walls of my room and the white blur I saw when the chair was spinning. I wanted something different for a change. Just a tiny splash of colour.
...69%...
The loading bar was black on white too. The whole damn operating system had a white theme throughout. What was wrong with a little colour? It's surprising how little you notice these things when you're working round the clock, but now that I thought about it I couldn't remember the last time I had seen any colour. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, the computer, my clothes, my food, it was all white! All white food? That can't be right. What had I been fed recently? I’d had sandwiches for lunch. Chicken & mayo. That's white meat and a white sauce on white bread. It was porridge for breakfast, and extremely milky coffee with both meals.
...70%...
That was ridiculous. They weren't seriously choosing our food based on colour. It was just a coincidence.
...71%...
I walked up to my door and tried opening it. It was locked, as always. That didn't usually bother me, I didn't know why it was different now. I wished it had a window I could look through, even one of those frosted ones that blurred everything out. Maybe there was colour out there. Even a blur of colour through a frosted window was still colour.
...72%...
I sat back down and stared listlessly about me, at nothing and everything at once. That's what the whiteness was, you know. Nothing yet everything. All I had to look at.
...73%...
Hell, even the lights were white. Not that nice yellow glow I remember from the lightbulbs at home but a bright, no-nonsense white. It was even worse outside that door. I could see the white light seeping in underneath it. Trying to take over my room. As if it wasn't white enough already.
...75%...
Hey, two whole percent that time! It was good to see that black bar gaining so much ground on the white. Black's not exactly a colour, but it's not white either. I hate white.
...76%...
I spun around in my chair a few more times, pushing off the desk to get a good speed up. I tried to push the chair away from the desk at first and nearly fell off. I had forgotten it was nailed to the floor. The desk was nailed down too. And the bed. Was there anything in this room that could actually move?
...77%...
I got up again and wandered off to my little ensuite bathroom. That was another lure. I had grown up with two sisters and the thought of having a bathroom all to myself was nearly as nice a thought as that fat paycheck.
Everything in here was white too. And nailed down. Except the white toothbrush, and the white toothpaste. White soap. I opened the cupboard; white bottles of white liquids.
I looked in the mirror and saw a pale white man, in white clothes, standing in front of a white background. My eyes were brown but I could see white all around them. My hair was black. That was something. I turned my head this way and that, trying to get a good view. When I'd turned it to the left at just the right angle, I stopped. I stared. There was a white hair on the side of my head. I tried to pluck it out but my fingers couldn't seem to find it. Every hair I pulled out was black on inspection. But that stubborn white hair was clearly there in the mirror. It was mocking me.
The hair or the mirror? I didn't know, but it seemed there was only one I could do anything about. I put my fist through it and it made a wonderful tinkling noise as the shards of glass fell away from it. Any noise was wonderful. It was too quiet in here.
Something splashed on my foot as I turned to walk away. I stared down at it in awe and wonder. A large red splotch had appeared on my white shoe. Colour at last! I shouted for joy, a wordless meaningless cry that raised my spirits for the sheer boisterousness of it.
A click and a static crackle filled the air around me, I stopped my shouting, overwhelmed by the additional noise. A tinny female voice spoke over the loudspeakers mounted in the corner of my room. I don't think I've ever heard them used before.
"Mr. Peterson, please calm yourself down and return to your chair. Help has been sent for and will be there soon to see to your hand and clean up the mess."
My hand? I looked down at it dumbly. Oh, so that's where the red was coming from. How strange that it didn't hurt. I walked back to my chair in a daze, nearly tripping over my feet as I was staring at my hand so intently.
...85%...
I waited patiently for them to come, smiling and humming to myself as the red colour spread slowly across my clothes. I liked red. It was so much prettier than white.
...86%...
I held my hand up over the monitor and let the red drip down on top of it, humming all the while.
...87%...
Ahh, that blinking was much nicer seen through a red haze.
...88%...
Footsteps outside my door. I wondered who they had sent and how they were going to help. Did they wear white too? I hadn’t seen any other humans here for a long time.
...89%...
The door opened and a rather large man entered wearing a white lab coat. He must have been old because his hair was white too. He was carrying a first aid kit, a white box with a red cross on it. I smiled at the red on his box and welcomed the man. He didn't smile back at me. He asked to see my hand while he rooted through his box for something. He found what he was searching for and I offered up my hand for inspection but when I saw what he was planning on doing I tried to pull away. But his grip was too firm and too strong. I asked him instead why he was doing that, why he was getting rid of the only colour in my life. He gave me an odd look, as if I was mad, and explained slowly that he was cleaning it. I could see that. I wanted to know why. I had decided I didn't like things being clean anymore. White was clean, and clean meant white. Did this man not understand? Did he not see how all the colour was draining out of the world?
...90%...
The man persisted in his cleanliness until all that remained of the red on my hand were the jagged holes the mirror had left there. I stared at these glumly, trying to imagine the whole world in that colour. It was nice, but impossible. There wasn't enough red in me to give the colour back to even this room, let alone the whole world.
The man was rummaging around his box again and I wondered what he was looking for now. He still kept hold of my hand, even though he had finished cleaning it. I tried to take it away again but he was still too strong. He sighed at my efforts and gave me that odd look again. As if I was the crazy one.
...91%...
He fished out a roll of whiteness from his box and put the end of it to my hand. I watched, fascinated, as he wound it slowly around my hand. He reached the red holes in my hand. He continued rolling the white. I screamed, shouted and pleaded with him. He couldn't cover up the last bit of colour left to me with white. It was indecent, inhuman, an atrocity!
The man wouldn't listen to me, he just kept on winding that roll of white around my hand. I tried to jerk it away once more but the only thing that accomplished was to get the man to glare at me again. I tugged harder, and used my free hand to try and take his roll of white away. That got his attention. He transferred the roll to his other hand so he had one free to slap me with. It stung a little, but what hurt more was the condescending way he spoke to me, chiding me as he would a small child.
...92%...
I couldn't stand this man anymore. I wanted to hurt him the way he had just hurt me but he was too strong. He was pinning both my hands down now as he reprimanded me. I glared at him sullenly and refused to speak. I had tried to explain myself to this man before and he had ignored every word I’d said. He leaned closer to be heard better, to try and get some acknowledgement, my attention, or maybe just to get a closer look at me. I don't know why he leaned forward, I just saw an opportunity. I headbutted him as hard as I could, and rammed my knee into him at the same time. He reeled backwards, a dazed look in his eyes. I did it again, ramming my head into his. A thin trickle of red ran down from his forehead. He had a weak skull for such a strong man. Of course, he was old. He had white hair.
...93%...
He pulled me down to the floor with him, still maintaining that vice-like grip on my wrists. I pulled and pulled to no avail. Even in death he was stronger than me. I leaned down and got my mouth around his index finger, gnawed on the knuckle, tried to get a good grip to pry him off me. My jaw muscles had always been stronger than my arms, I used to get into drink bottles this way.
I broke the skin on his knuckle and my mouth filled with copper and salt. Funny that. Bright red spilled from my mouth. It was a jolly, happy colour. Not one I associated with copper or salt.
...94%...
Click. Crackle. "Mr. Peterson, please remain calm and return to your chair, help is on the way."
How could I return to my chair when the old man wouldn't let go of me? I asked it of the room in general but I don't think anyone heard me. I think this speaker system is one-way only.
I couldn't get a good grip on his fingers anymore. They were all slippery and red. I mean, it was pretty, but it made things a lot more difficult. I let go and decided to try a different approach. I wasn't sure what it was just yet, but there must be another way.
...95%...
They were going to be here soon. They would try to cover me in white too, just like this man had done. I had worked this place out now; they were all white. Every one of them. They were trying to make me white too, trying to convert me, to turn me into one of them. They had already started.
I had to get out of here. I had to get this man's hands off of me. I pushed, I heaved, I pulled, I screamed, I tore, I pried, I cried, I rammed, I hit, I punched, I kicked. Aha! I kicked!
...96%...
It took a lot of manoeuvring but I managed to get my knees up against my chest, between me and the old white man. I heaved, with all my strength. I pushed until I felt my legs would explode from the pressure, then I pushed some more. His fingers gave way with a great loud SNAP and I was finally free!
The first thing I did was rip that damned white stuff off my hand.
Now to get out of here before they came. The man had locked the door when he had come in, but he had used a card to do it. He must have that on him somewhere. I dug around in his pockets and came up with a keychain, a card, and a pocket knife. I grinned, ready to escape. To be free. To go back to the world of colour that I remembered oh so well.
...97%...
I stopped at the door and looked back, admiring my handiwork with the red monitor. I looked at the old man again and the trickle of red running down his face. I looked at the red pool underneath his hand. It seemed like such a waste for all that red to be pooled in just one place. I looked at the knife in my hand. I grinned. I remembered how long it had taken this man to get down here. I still had time. Such a large man was bound to have a lot of red in him.
...98%...
By the time I was done with him he was covered in red from head to toe, but it still wasn't good enough. It was just pooling on the floor underneath him. I wiped my hand through it then smeared it across the clean white wall. No good. That way would take forever. I thought about it for all of ten seconds, smearing my art over the wall all the while. The answer was simple, really, when it eventually came to me. It had been right in front of me all along.
...99%...
It took me another minute or so to get the man into my chair. It wasn't just that he was so big, but he was so darn slippery. I should have moved him here before I got started on opening him up.
I got him in the chair. I tied him up with his own once-white lab coat to keep him there. I spun it violently, as hard as I could, and the red sprayed all around the room in a glorious fountain of colour. Nothing was spared. Now everything in the room had a wonderfully bright and colourful look to it. None of that ghastly clean white. I smiled, but had no more time to admire my work. I had cut it too close already. I had to get out of here.
I ran.
...
...100%.
The loading bar blinked redly one last time. The computer emitted a series of beeps, a click, then a self-satisfied hum as it rebooted itself. The update had included a colour scheme change due to popular demand and as a way of saying thank you to the hard workers whose project was nearly completed. A small splash of colour amongst the black and white.
It was an unappreciated change in this room, though. The worker here sat in the chair and stared at the monitor through glazed, unseeing eyes.
The update had come too late.