Colors are defined by placement, confirmed in relevance to reactions presented from the subject. Joel set-out to strip a color’s interpretation, in regards to the circumstances of an interaction and define them by name alone. Inside solitary confinement, colors revealed their personality traits through conversation. Red was the first to engage him, his eyes were closed, fingers interlocked and placed behind his head to add an extra cushion, besides his plastic pillow, between him and the concrete slab he slept on. Red manifested like an apparition, surrounded by lawn furniture, but lacked a human frame, instead took an oblong shape, reminiscent of the globs featured in a Pollack masterpiece.
“Why, ‘ello there, Joel-babe.” Red said.
“H..H..hi..” Joel replied.
“I’ve seen ya round, quite a bit. Ya get rather sassy at stoplights. Sittin’ there…impatient and all.”
“Yeah. I hate waiting.”
“Hm. Is what why yir in such a place as dis?”
“Because I am impatient?”
“Somethin’ like dat.”
Blue appeared while Joel was praying, it took the form of Mother Mary’s shawl, coming together like a pair of lips as it spoke.
“Ahhh. Nice to see you haven’t lost your faith my child.” Blue said.
Green took the form of an American dollar bill and appeared while Joel was having a liquid dream. It simply appeared, laughed and disappeared. The entire encounter lasted no more than 50 seconds.
A guard came to check on Joel who was staring at the wall, talking to yellow. He smacked his baton against the jail cell door and the clang reverberated throughout the room and down the hall.
“Ey, don’t be losing your mind there.”
“Colors demand a palette. As humans we steal them of their right to be named.” Joel kept his gaze fixed and spoke to the wall.
“Don’t be back talking to me.” The guard shouted.
Joel smirked, “Damn. You authorities are so orange.”
“What’d you say?”
“I said,” Joel averted his stare and looked at the guard through the bars, “you’re so orange!” He shouted.
In an air of rage the guard unlocked the cell, entered it, threw Joel on his back and began beating him with his baton.
“Who’s orange now you bastard.” He said, delivering strike after strike and once he finished the beating, he wiped Joel’s blood onto his orange jumpsuit. He left the cell, locked it and whistled as he walked away.
Joel bled out on the floor of his cell.
“So…this is the black…this is the black…” He kept repeating.