I See Only the Color

Reads: 105  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Lightwaves, dynamite and martyrdom

Submitted: September 06, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 06, 2012



I See Only The Color

by Bluebeard Barry


The room is filled with the one note song pulsing the way only static can sing it. It blasts from two crooked, cracked wooden speakers and weighs heavy in the hot room. A turn of the knobs and the room breathes a silent breath. Then another turn and static sings louder. The dial creeps along, static to music to voices to static until it rests at 785 and the changing chaos gives way to the sound of a crowd dying out to hear a man's voice. The feedback bounces around the room while a throat clears out eight pounds of phlegm into the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, quiet please, ladies and, luh-ladies and...yes, thank you. Now, first let me begin by saying how wonderful it is to see all of you gathered here. This truly will be a day to remember. In just a few minutes time, Dr. Yakamoto will be ready and he and his team will unveil their ground-breaking discovery. So, as we wait, I will take this time to share with you a little background of this project and of the good doctor himself.

Dr. Yukita Yakamoto is a renowned and widely consulted expert of quantum physics, atomic chemistry, astrology and many other scientific fields. He holds six doctorates from four of the topmost prestigious institutions throughout the world, and already his work has made an impressive mark in the worlds of Science and Progress. Three years ago, a major leader in media technologies sanctioned a funded research with Dr. Yakamoto leading the team...," the sound of a hurried whisper flutters out of the speakers, a hissing, pulsing thing second cousins to the static, "...Ah yes, the good doctor is ready. Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed members of the scientific community, I give you Dr. Yukita Yakamoto!"

Cheering fills the room. There must be at least a few thousand there to make such a monster wave of noise. This thing makes static shake in awe pissing itself. The crowd dies out and the feedback comes, they must be lowering the microphone for the doctor. Wait, he's talking.

"...and to you too Professor Merriman, thank you for that flattering introduction." The interpretor is a good one, keeping right along with Yakamoto's quacking, squeaky Japanese. "As Professor Merriman has explained to you all, my team and I have been researching and developing new technologies for the past three years. Our main focus, very early within the first few months, shifted toward light and throughout our research we concentrated solely on light and its properties. Our end goal, the purpose behind all our work, was to develop new, effecient ways to capture and manipulate light. The media company funding our research felt it was time to reinvestigate its technologies in hopes of discovering new ways to massively produce its products while cutting down on costs, pollution and, keeping the customer in mind, size. Higher resolutions and smaller, smarter components were the suggested results. We felt, however, that the key to changing our present technology was, not to work with our given present material, but to start from scratch, as they say.

We began first to study light as our ancestors must have, with plain sight and the naturally occuring refractive and reflective elements of the earth. We then began using these elements in our own ways to build primitive versions of the technologies of today. Over the course of these advancing, evolving creations, we were able to prove all present theories and formulae using our own developed tools. I won't go into detail of mathematics and technicalities and will focus instead on what we here have gathered for. After two years of intesnive experimentation and a never ending transformation of tools, we had what we believed to be the best tool with which to view and manipulate light waves. It is, to simplify, a sort of electronic free form prism. Electronic in that we first relied on....yes, sorry."

A voice fades in,"...it's just, we haven't the time necessary for an in-depth presentation and description of all your team's scientific data Dr. Yakamoto. Please forgive me for inter..."

The doctor whispers something the interpretor lets pass in silence and then her sweet, I-speak-English-better-than-you voice is back," After the final version of this prism was completd, we ran the first full test. It is the result of that test that I am here to present to you, truly one of the most shocking discoveries of science. My team and I have discovered an existing lightwave never before known to man, bringing with it too a new, never seen color. This color is the most beautiful thing any of us have seen and the schock we experienced is beyond words.

We spent the next year building and developing tools to enable us to capture and reproduce this new color, for no present technology was capable. And it is today, just six days after our final tests, that we proudly present this to the rest of mankind. Behind me is a blank white canvas ten feet by twelve. If everyone will please turn their attention to it, I will fill this space with this new, never before seen color."

The walls shake the apartment with the force of a passing train growing too violent. The wood speakers fall, down goes the radio with them.


It's laughing a thick single "HA!" that sinks into the gut and drives the soul screaming up out the ears. Couldn't have seen it over the radio anyway.

Five years. They tell me I am sure to get life, but they have no idea what a life I have given to everyone else, the freedom and joy brought by my actions. Someone had to do it, maybe not as I did, but if not my way, what? Thousands and thousands of years of wars and unequal wealth, of exploitations and religions, of blinding isms and evil men. Temporary freedoms granted as rewards, man still a slave to self-loathing depressions brought on by abstract ideas hammered daily into his eyes, his ears, his prick. No, I may spend my days encased within a dark, cold hard closet eating cock and cigarettes, but I will be, myself, free for eternity. The chaos was necessary. Just as many wars bring changes and freedoms, mine followed suit. And at what cost? Man has been sending men to fight other men, to die for men in the name of men seeking to better the existence of man. Millions have suffered terrible lives, terrible pains and unimaginable events and still no peace or freedom from this madness. But what did it cost me to bring the change, the peace? Sixty-four dead men, dynamite and my own pride. And five years. Five years of forced insanity, of planning and growing, foolish mistakes and costly mistakes. Five years of saintliness. Five years all for The Color.

Nobody can put the blame on Yakamoto, the fault lies in us. He saw only beauty of this world, was blinded by it, in love and oblivious to its terrible power. The Color brought us all to our knees, wet our eyes, made all men smile and laugh and weep in awe. But beauty always feeds the evil of men. Man becomes frightened by the beauty, feeling himself inferior for he never can fully understand it. He takes it, locks it away where it cannot be tainted, foolishly obsessing over it behind closed doors. This brings envy into the hearts of his brothers and now the evil has spread and malice is born. Beauty becomes wealth for it is rare and even rarer to capture it and keep it hidden away from the evil of men, untarnished by his low desires. A system arises now where men labor and lust and kill and suffer for a piece of it. All this evil bred from man's ignorance of this world, naive to his true horrible nature. He rersorts to hiding his mind in other places, abstractions of his own creation where he becomes selfish and self-obsessed until he thinks himself truly beautiful. Then the day comes when true Beauty is again seen, shattering his ego and evil again is bred in his stomach.

But now man has his freedom from beauty, and at what cost? Sixty-four dead men, dynamite and my own pride. And five years. Ask anyone what happened the first time they saw The Color and they will reply, "I couldn't think, couldn't move. It is too beautiful, indescribable." Tangible proof was given that day by Yakamoto to a self absorbed existence that other forms of life exist outside of its own reality, parallel to its own existence going in circles right along side it and intersecting at its own will. The modern reality man had created, wrapped himself tightly within, was shaken by an unkown intruder, an alien beauty. Fear was not slow to sweat itself back into us, fear of what The Color might mean. What else did we not know of? Any speculations might be truths, any claims of the insane, the lonely, the wicked could and were all now sermons of truth. This gift of Beauty and Wonder Yakamoto had received and shared was double-sided, it was the fire Prometheus stole from the mountain. Yes we all were warm and the darkness of night was conquered, but our flesh soon would burn in the flame. Thus did the keepers of the flame keep it hidden and rare, for the sake of their brothers. The price of a Yakamoto lens never waned but rose and rose, supply and demand of the largest scale. The Color was a corporate godsend. Yakamoto and his team were instantly bound to secrecy by the one company who ruled the lens and made no effort to enable mass production to make one avaible to everyman, but made it rarer than gold. The Color became wealth. No paint devolped, no ink, no way to view it but through the lens, owned and sold by one company. Public viewings costing prices most would never afford were the only way for one to see The Color. The greatest thing seen by man since his first view of the world, but only for a privileged few. It took only six months of teeming, pulsing electric envy to build an explosion of jealous brothers biting and tearing each other for what lay locked away. That is when I destroyed the first lens.

There were three lenses by that point, three complicated machines heavily guarded and shipped from country to country costing millions of dollars. The difficulty for us later on was in locating these machines. But in the begining, location was the simplest part of our planning. The viewings were public events, their times and locations broadcast and advertised. We didn't have to look for long. It was easy too to get help at first, before the war grew to big and insane for honest men. At the start, rants of wealthy masters whipping the the poor flew from my mouth, lies and foolish propaganda to help recuit, lies that cost a dozen innocent lives that night. These people were insane with rage and envy, perfect for what I needed from them.

The viewings would always last forty minutes. The lens would grow unstable and dangerous, destroying itself violently after forty minutes. It was in my early foolishness that we planned the first bombing to immediately follow the viewing. With only the operators remaing indoors with security standing guard outside, seven recruits bumrushed the stage and detonated their explosives, killing all seven, four scientists and a janitor. The lens too was destroyed. My war had begun.

Immediately all enemies blamed one another, factions against dictators, revolutionaries against their governments, brothers here blaming their brothers over waters. But I had planned this response. Before any military retaliation could wrongly follow the first bombing, we released a declaration to all nations, citing equal rights for all men, total equality of the human race in all aspects throughout the world as our cause. We proclaimed ourselves enemy to all governments, all rulers, all groups of men ruling men. We became the enemy to the rest of mankind. We declared the end of Capitalism, Communism, Socialism, Totalitarianism, every ism and form of government as our goal. We threatened violent retaliation to any sort of system, we declared war as Anarchists. This created the panic needed, the disassociation and distraction from our true target, The Color. Within three months we destroyed another lens. No nation was threatened, no soldier killed, just five more scientists and two insansely innocent and ignorant revolutionaries pushed to death through my words.

As the war raged on, the manufacture of a lens grew more and more efficient, but so did we. After only two years we had destroyed seventy-six lenses, half of Yakamoto's team of scientists, and were now the one and only enemy of the world. All races, countries, classes, groups, families, all were united in their hate. Every man was ready to fight with any and every man to find and kill me and my dwindling army of recruits. How I was able to avoid capture, I will never fully understand, though I give undo credit to my tactics and painstakingly complex procedures. I was shut off from the world, from The Color and yet, I was all that the world of man cared about, thought about, spoke of, all they sought. I was in their newspapers, television shows, radio broadcasts, everywhere. Their hate grew and grew as the world continued, for there was no confusion now, no Robin Hood intentions, no moral agenda, I sought only to destroy man's link to The Color.

Near the end of the war, we had to change our tactics. As the lenses came to be more heavily guarded, with the viewings sinking down into secrecy, we no longer could publicly attack. Now only the ruling classes were among those at the viewings, the cost having skyrocketed as the number of lenses decreased and the imminent danger grew. We decided that it was during the transportation of the lenses that offered our greatest opportunity. The lenses, being heavy huge complicated things, were moved by truck, surrounded by a convoy of various military elites. Once we learned the next location, we mapped out the various roots of the convoy. Along each route, we found a spot far from any major city or town, and set up a sort of remotely detonated land mine, buried and planted in the asphalt to avoid detection.

Five years had past and all that remained was me, Yakamoto and the original lense. The entire world knew Yakamoto kept it at his home in Japan. My tally was up to sixty-three dead men, seventy five thousand tons of dynamite and one-hundred and forty-three Yakamoto lenses. I had only one more silent night to shatter.

I will remember his voice until I die here in this place, that squeaking angelic voice. The original lense was very small, intended only for testing purposes, and Yakamoto kept it in his bedroom, sleeping wonderous dreams bathed in The Color. I had planned to sneak in, slit the doctor's throat, steal the machine and destroy it. But as soon as I walked through the door, I was paralyzed. I could not move, think, could do nothing but soak it in, melt into the world of The Color. How does one describe something so strange and beautiful that our human language holds no vocabulary remotely touching upon its esscence? The only word I could muster was, "Perfect," said in such an awed whisper so as not to disturb the swimming things in the air The Color made visible. Everything was animated, swirling with pieces of light vibrating and zooming around. All the colors we know were visible and somehow in a higher state, thicker, richer, purer, as if The Color was light itself shining through the Reds and Greens and Aquamarines, the Gold and Silvers with hints of Violet specks.

I stood there, knife in hand, dumbfounded for at least fifteen minutes until I noticed Yakamoto in a chair near the wall watching me. He held down at his side an antique looking sword. Slowly he stood and bowed, then spoke in perfect English, "So you have come, just as I knew you must. I have known for some time now that you would end this war here, here where it began, here with me and my creation. I first must applaud your diligence and skill, for to have succeeded even halfway through such an endeavor as yours would itself be astounding. To see it complete, truly is awe-inspiring. Next I must thank you. Yes, I can understand your surprise. I have spent many hours thinking since the start of your attacks on what would drive a man to do such as you have. Insanity was easily a comforting choice at first, but your control and precision showed you too sane. I then suggested that you simply sought fame, but again your extensive labors to maintain your identity and remain hidden forced me to beleive otherwise. Malice and an arsonist's lust for destruction I also put aside, for you destroyed only the machines and those few memebers of my team that could help to rebuild them. I then came to understand that you meant only to destroy The Color, completely, to erase its existence."

Yakamoto sat down on his bed and sighed a long heavy sigh. There were tears forming in the corners of his eyes and his hand trembled a little as he placed the sword down beside him.

"I must admit that even after I came to see what your end goal was, I failed to fully grasp what idea, what train of thought would lead a man to such actions. Then, as your war progressed, I began to notice everyone around me. The sanest of men were becoming insane with rage, the sweetest of them became monsters, not out of spite, but fear. Fear that something they once had not, they soon would again have not. Fear turns men weak, evil easily gains control of weak men. You were destroying our small glimpse of true infinite beauty, something still most had yet to see, something others valued more than their own breaths. I watched as mankind united to fight this evil destroying their link to True Beauty, and I saw every man in his fight to protect it turn truly Ugly, truly Evil. And here tonight, I was wondering to myself what sort of person it must be to see these things so long ago from the beginning, who could attack and olbiterate such beauty in the attempt to keep his brothers sane and pure, when I saw you walk into The Color and stop dead, paralyzed."

Yakamoto stood up and picked up the sword, just letting it hang in his hand by his side. He approached me calmly and embraced me by the shoulders.

"You have never before witnessed The Color have you? Was it a concious decision or simply fate working in our favor? All this violence and labor and planning, and you had never seen that which you were destroying. You were fueled simply by the idea, it is quite beautiful. And to think, we have yet to find a way to describe this gift, not even a word with which to refer to it. I myself have chosen to call it Tenrai, or divine. What name would you give to it? Perfect perhaps, I rather like that one as well."

Yakamoto got down on his knees and drew the sword. "Now, take the lense and end this war of yours. Do with it what you will. As for my own life, I myself will see that it is extinguished. I have committed a great wrong to my fellow man, whatever intentions I had at first mean nothing for a terrible evil has come of my actions. I will take responsibility for my errors and sins and take justice into my own hands. Just as my ancestors before me, I will end my life through Seppuku and kneel before them to ask for forgiveness. Everything that has come is meaningless, everything to come is beautiful."

Yakamoto thrust the sword into his stomach and slumped back, falling to his side and squirming in pain before coming to rest, dead. I was too amazed to move right away. My brain, however, was running. I could just vanish into the night with the lense, the last one, mine. I could keep it and run it and have it forever. My plans have all been seen through, no lense will ever again be built, and I would still have The Color, the Tenrai.


I was not worthy of the divine, no man is. I picked up the lense and carried it out into Yakamoto's courtyard. With the timer set and counting down, I carried Yakamoto's body far from the house to avoid any damage to his corpse. He deserved a proper ceremony and burial. Two days later, with all the evidence anyone would need, plans, blueprints, photographs, I turned myself over to the authorities.

The court hearing was a circus, a geek show. I was sitting above a tank of pirahanas and everyone had a ball in hand with their arms cocked and ready. I stoically stared as they all cut me to pieces, all of them disgusted and enraged, embarassed that one of their brothers could be so low, so vile. I spoke not a single word in my defense, but plead guilty to all charges and accepted all sentences in silence, letting myself be exactly what they wanted. I took my beatings with an inward smile. Now I sit here shaven, starved, naked and bruised, I sit here in ecstacy. The only enemy of man has been captured and brought to justice. Now man knows what it once held dear, we all are brothers, all united against the evil outside of our own world. They all will sit in homes and rooms, in bars and restaurants celebrating their triumph. And here I will sit, here I will sleep, and eat, piss and shit, and here will I die. Once again, Earth will be a paradise. Freed from his fear of that which he does not know, man will be at peace. Though, not for long I fear, for the world in which he lives is far too beautiful and he is far too foolish.

© Copyright 2018 Bluebeard Barry. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Literary Fiction Short Stories