Through the Veil of Grey

Not sure that I will be adding anything more to this one. I kind of like the abruptness of it. If I do add to this, you will be able to read all of it here:

Through the Veil of Grey

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Looking out at the drab landscape that stretched itself before him, he considered the state of his own soul. Did this landscape reflect what was inside of his heart? The withered trees leaned against years of blowing winds. The short, stunted grass struggled against the heat of the sun and yearned for rain. Grey. There was nothing around him but grey. A rainbow had never painted itself across the sky. The sky had never turned radiant as the day came to a close. Flowers never bloomed. Was the cause of this within himself?

He stood and brushed the sand from his pants. Shielding his eyes, he gave the view another look. It never changed. Every day it presented itself the same. He turned and went into the shabby and crumbling house that he existed within. The kitchen was sparse and the counters bare. Pulling out the drawer next to the dull metal sink, he considered the contents before selecting the appropriate tool.

The dim light traced a silver line along the thin ragged edge of the knife. He ran his finger tip across it and smiled when the red welled up from his dusty brown skin. There was brightness and color hidden beneath this world he could see. Determined to find it, he carried the knife with him into the coldness of the bathroom. The wallpaper had faded and was peeling. The once vibrant flowers had all but vanished through the passing years.

The mirror reflected his grey eyes. As grey as the world that they saw. Everything was grey. He lifted the knife and paused, his hand trembled. He could not second guess himself now. Nothing would change if he did not make it change. In a single swift movement, he plunged the knife into his eye and dung it out. It plopped into the empty sink and the red splashed down over it, painting the room with the only color it had known in years.

Pain washed over him and he puked. Only bile came up. It washed over the sink and mixed with the blood, mellowing and sickening its vibrancy. He clutched at the sink's edge. Grey wisps floated in his mind and made the world spin. Swallowing hard, he willed himself to remain conscious. His work was not yet done. There was no way he could have known had much harder the second one would be.

The shaking of his hand became worse with each throb in his face. He grasped the knife with both hands, but it made no difference. Drawing deep breaths and blowing them out slowly; I must make the change. A second time the knife struck and the second orb fell. Darkness came. There was no more grey. Lifting his head up to the mirror brought a smile to his face. He imagined that his skin was radiant and his eyes gleamed blue.

He would see the grey no more.

He staggered back from the sink, his hands still gripping its edge, his breath ragged and uneven. His body felt like it was pulsing with a strange, electric energy, his heart hammering in his chest as if it too had tasted the blood he had spilled. His eyes, or what was left of them, saw nothing but shadows—pulsing darkness that swirled around him like a thick fog, twisting in unnatural ways. He could hear it now, voices—soft whispers at first, then growing louder, turning into wails of torment and despair, coming from the depths of the darkness.

"Open your eyes," one voice begged, its tone desperate, pleading. "See the truth. See what lies beyond and within ."

The air around him thickened with their presence. The voices shifted, merging into one, their words becoming clearer, more insistent. The writhing forms in the darkness became tangible, like tendrils of smoke reaching for him, urging him to listen, to understand. He felt something wet trickle down his face—more blood, but this time it felt different, as though it was giving him life, feeding him something ancient and forgotten.

The blood pooled in his vision, and in the red, he saw it—flashes of symbols, intricate and alien, etched into the blackness. Each throb of red pulsed with a life of its own, pushing against the fabric of his mind. The symbols danced in the darkness, vivid and alive, demanding to be recognized.

His hands trembled, reaching instinctively into the air. He traced the patterns, feeling the air shift with each movement. His lips parted, and though he didn’t fully understand the language, the words spilled out of him, like they had always been there, waiting for him to speak them.

He muttered, the words strange and ancient on his tongue, their power igniting something deep within him. The symbols in the air seemed to glow faintly, and his hands, like they were guided by something far older than himself, began to recreate the marks in the air.

The whispers around him crescendoed, a chorus of voices rising in a single, unholy song. His breath hitched, and as the last word left his mouth, a violent force gripped his body. He covered his face with both hands, feeling a pressure begin to build in his skull, like his very mind was about to explode.

Magic erupted from him.

Blue tendrils, vibrant and pure, shot from his hands, spiraling around him like a violent storm. The light wrapped around his limbs, around his torso, as if trying to bind him to this new power. It burned, but not in a way that hurt—it was a fire of pure, unfiltered magic, surging through him with an intensity he couldn’t control. His veins throbbed with the energy, and his body screamed in agony as if it were being torn apart and remade. The darkness around him rumbled, pushed against him, and yet the light he unleashed was unyielding, radiating outwards in a brilliant, almost blinding blue.

Then, as quickly as it began, it stopped. The magic died down, retreating into him, leaving him panting and weak. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, the weight of what he had just done crashing into him all at once.

With shaky hands, he opened his eyes.

The world was no longer grey.

It was alive with color. The once-muted landscape around him had transformed into a vivid tapestry of hues—burnt orange skies, lush green grass, and trees with blossoms that seemed to glow under the sun’s touch. The air itself was painted in shades of amber and violet, swirling with life and possibility. The gray had been stripped away, replaced by a world that he had never truly seen, a world so alive it almost hurt.

He stared at his hands, marveling at the vividness of the blood still dripping from his eye sockets, the bright red stark against the swirling colors around him. The symbols he had summoned in the darkness still lingered in the air, faint but ever present, like echoes of the power he had just unlocked. 

The pain in his skull throbbed, but he didn’t care. He felt something he hadn’t felt in years—hope. His eyes, his true eyes, could see beyond the veil. He could see what was hidden beneath the surface, the beauty and the horror that had always been there, but he had never known how to reach.

He stood, wiping the blood from his face, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he smiled. The world was no longer grey, and he no longer felt blind.

This was only the beginning.