The Color Essays

Prologue

This collection of stories, called essays here incorrectly, are memories of a time when life was simple, dark, and deep. The lighter colors seem quite all right at first, but let none fool you. Only white is right.

The pen scribbled this on the sheet of paper, but no sound came from the man's lips. None came, although the words were not his own. Although the words were not his own he kept writing, He kept writing, and he wrote this:

When you turn left and keep walking, be afraid that you may never see the path again. When you leave everything behind, or open yourself entirely, or succumb to the depths of pain, know that I see you, and feel agony.

But it is time that I show you the truth. And show you the truth I shall.

If this confused the man, he made no sign. His eyes drooped with exhaustion and disinterest, he remained fully relaxed, and his breath came and went with smooth, even movements. He did not understand that anything out of the ordinary, much less anything truly spectacular was occurring. He would not do anything of the kind until morning.

And so on one October night in the French Quarter, a man snored at his desk, not knowing that his life had changed forever.