Monochrome

It was the twenty-third. That was when I saw it, the thing that changed my perspective. I was out on a business trip to the countryside; the boss had coerced me into going with the new hire and his words still ring in my ears like he’s still beckoning me. It was always about what went wrong. It was usually everything, the lighting was off or the lens cap wasn’t taken off or an editor was raving about the speck of dust that made the polaroid unusable. The camera is a cruel mistress, she guides the souls of many a man into the depths of the workplace hierarchy. Deep within limbo, mediocrity flourished as if a plant taking root within the zeitgeist of the higher-ups. Once you fell, you’d never escape. The new hire didn’t know that yet, but she would soon. She was maybe nineteen but looked straight out of a moving picture or some magazine. Though having never met her there was a distinct impression, a miasma in her aura that cried out that she is very plain. A girl who a director would dare not cast and whom the audience would misplace, car keys. An integral part of getting to work, but almost always lost in the hustle and bustle of more memorable possessions.

Were we at the right place? He commanded us to this place like the champions of old led vast armies onto a battlefield; it was like Napoleon himself led the charge. Not a sign of life-changing landscapes, or a burning bush, or even a suitable place to take the front-page photo. Moscow was in flames and with it my hopes of climbing the ladder if even for a singular step. I gaze unto the local like a hawk awaits a mouse, but I'm meant to starve. It was an old tree falling at the seams, the boss assured the new girl and me that there would be some macguffin that our paper needed in order to show off the new technology our spies had taken from some big shot firm. ‘Dufaycolor was the future of photography’ he decreed. ’It’d make the world come to life.’ Some tall tale. It was just an ordinary camera, the same as it’d always been. Colored photographs? Don’t make me laugh. You ought to get real comfy being Buck Mulligan if you can make it that far and I’m constantly reassured the boss made it that far. The new hire didn’t know that yet, but she’d have to learn it soon. This camera would be the catalyst for that forbidden fruit. What better way to usher in a new chapter of your life than with a decrepit and rotting husk too far gone to be turned into a lowly pencil? An everyday tool that most people don’t even register.

She and I stood and stared at the dead thing, too afraid to dare question the boss’ desires, though how foolish they were. On rare occasion he was an observant and charismatic man; however, often he was far from scrupulous, without a flash. On top of sending us out into the tomb of this once-alive monstrosity, he conscripted in our rank a camera that was no more familiar than the scenery. His test was clear, show the new girl how to capture the world. Without knowing what lie ahead, I instinctively released the future from its prison. With all the gravitas that lay dormant within myself, I took a photo just like I would with any other camera. There was nothing special, no tornado to whisk me away to Oz. The new hire seemed pleased in the face of such insurmountable mundanity, yet uneasy. Her gaze was glued to the tree as if it was calling for her. She seemed so content to just observe the tree, though nothing of note was there. I couldn’t comprehend it, what did she see that I couldn’t? I had to ask, I had to know. But, she would ask the questions here.

“Are you going to take the photo soon?” She was so hyper-fixated on the tree that she didn't even bother to look at me, nor did she hear the snap when I'd taken it.

“Don’t rush the process. We need to make sure that it’s done correctly.” I didn't have the heart to tell her that I'd taken it already.

“I don’t see why you don’t...see it for what it is,” she blathered. “The countryside should be full of beauty...”

“I don’t follow.”

“Show some initiative,” she pleaded.

“It’s easier said than done,” I retorted. What did she know about initiative anyway? It was something for the boss to demonstrate, I was a mere photographer.

“Just take the shot so we can go.” She was just insulting me at this point. It’s taking a lot of self-restraint, but I won’t snap at her. Such a volatile emotion isn’t fit for this tree to bear witness to. This wretched scenery sickens me, the boss desired only to torture my soul, this I know. Growing weary of this I simply walked away from the tree, the new hire, and the responsibility. All that was racing through my mind was the hope that today had not been a waste. I feverish shook the photo, praying to any god who was invested enough to listen, praying that this photo would develop.

I could seldom imagine the delight, the ecstasy I would feel as I stared into the photo taken through my hand. The stage was set and the curtain achingly peeled back, showing me an entirely new world. A world that was filled with unimaginable colors, reds and blues and greens; hell, even combinations of them. It feels as though this brand new place that rests within my palm, the color-world, was one where I was a god. If not for me, color wouldn’t exist. Yes, I am the master of this place. It’s so unlike the world that I’d known, the fake-world. This photograph is a glimpse into the real-world and I am the one who’d made it into existence. It is as if a great and thunderous might as wondrous as it is ineffable has been gifted to me; it reminds me of the monster in a novella that came out recently, Asa-thought I think it was called. No matter, I was over the moon. The boss demeaned my craft too much in his fixation upon its flaws, but what would he say about my Paradise found?

Despite my burning, lethargic rage, the new hire had to see this with her own eyes to believe it. I ran back as fast as I could. It wasn’t very fast. As I was running, the world’s grays melted away and the world of the photograph envelops me. Greens and yellows and browns of the leaves were there, and the blue of the sky was there in a glorious fresco. She was there, the new hire. She wasn’t paying attention, she still stared at the tree like a moth to a flame. I think she heard me approach, she turned at me and for the first time, I looked into her eyes. They were tinged with immeasurable fear, I was seeing it now for the first time. She spoke to me again.

“Did it develop yet? I’d like to leave.” Her words were nothing like what I’d heard to this point. Shaky, out of focus. Like a great fog covering what lies just beneath the surface. I was crossing the Carpathian Mountains only to be met with misfortune.

“Yes, it developed. Oh god, it’s wonderful. It’s the greatest photograph I’ve ever taken. The colors, the world. I see all of it,” I couldn’t contain my excitement. “Look, see for yourself. This is what photography is all about!” As I again look into the photo, I saw it. How could I miss that?! The greens and the blues. Red. So much red. A great tapestry of misery and damnation. It, he was there. The tree, it was red. So fixated upon what had to be done I failed to see overt misfortune; the tree, the new hire, it was all burned into my subconscious. I took her and we left. All I said was sorry. I was sorry, so very sorry. When we got back to our office, I gave the boss the photograph. A once vibrantly horrific and damnable world, now gray. It was for the best that it stay like that.