Posted in Flash Fiction

The Grey Man


Hey it wasn’t my fault! What was he doing in our neighbourhood anyway? Don’t get me wrong, us Yellows, we’re not snobs. It’s just … well you don’t see many of his sort round here. I bumped into him when I came out of the gym, in fact he tried to talk to me. I ignored him of course, who wouldn’t. I mean, come on, you never know who might be watching. What if one of the neighbours had seen me chatting with a Purple or someone from work? No, I wasn’t going to take the chance. Sure, he didn’t look too good, the colour was definitely fading from his face, but how was I know he was having a colour attack. Someone said that when the medics found him it was too late, he was completely grey. He’ll be a Grey now for the rest of his life, poor sod. I feel guilty, course I do. If I’d called the colour paramedics, chances are they could have saved him but how was I to know. Maybe I should’ve talked to him, offered him some help … but don’t forget he was only a Purple.



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