The Polychromatic War

 

by
Nicole Sherman

 

The sky wasn’t supposed to be purple. Not at this time of the day. The sky was supposed to be a swirling mess of azure and white puffs. It was supposed to be annoyingly normal, nothing out of the usual. But today? Purple it is.

 

“It must be the Painters in the sky,” he said to me, in a voice so devoid of emotion you would have thought he wasn’t looking at something scientifically impossible.

 

I shifted back and forth on my feet, a little hesitant to speak; I knew he would be able to hear the concern in my voice. “The Painters?” I cleared my throat, “I thought they cleared out of here last summer.”

 

Ryden tapped his chin, as if trying to recall a distant memory. “That’s what I heard. But Leisha told me last month that they might be coming back.”

 

I tried to swallow this information without choking on it. The Painters were back? I suddenly felt like I needed to sit. So I did.  My bright yellow cotton dress fanned out on the green lawn around me. The bow tied around my waist was beginning to cut off the circulation to my lower half, so I untied and loosened it a bit.  I took a couple of deep breaths to soothe the churning in my stomach that was suddenly making itself known.

 

Ryden looked down at me, his eyebrows knitted together in slight trepidation. “You ok there Sienna?”

 

“I really hate the Painters,” was my less than subtle response. It was true. They gave me a serious case of the wiggins whenever I thought of them, which hadn’t been often as of late. But now that they’re back…

 

Ryden sidled up next to me and sat down on the grass, his jeans and white button-up shirt crinkling slightly as he splayed his legs in front of him. I looked at his face, the high cheekbones, semi-sallow cheeks, prominent brow line, and dimple in his chin. His features were built for comfort. A full mouth of perfectly straight white teeth appeared as he smiled at me. Before I knew it, he had an arm around my shoulders. “Hey, look, I know that they make things…different. But you really should give them a chance.”

 

I curled my lip in disgust. “You mean it doesn’t upset you that they just reach out those invisible arms of theirs and suddenly a tree is blue?” I wasn’t sure if I was being accurate in how they do their deed; no one really knows how it works.

 

“Sen, tell me, is a blue tree really so bad?” his voice lilting at the end, giving way to his exasperation.

 

“It’s not right Ryden and you know it.” It’s true. What the Painters do isn’t right. They make a mockery out of the natural world as we know it. And for what? A couple of casual bouts of laughter. You might think that having neon landscaping and fluorescent buildings would be interesting, but after a while, it really messes with your reality. Life isn’t a cartoon.

 

I waved my arms to encompass the hillside we were sitting on. “This is grass. Grass is green. If the Painters were to suddenly paint it red, how would we know if it was healthy or not?”

 

“Ok, ok no need to get upset. Calm down,” Ryden put his hands in the air as if surrendering.

 

“No Ry, I don’t think you get it! The Painters just swooped in here and decided to play Picasso with our world! Who gave them the right?”

 

“Sienna –”

 

“They have their own planet to mess with. And you know what? It’s time they went back for good.” I was really working myself into a fit, but this felt like the right thing to do. “I’m not taking it anymore Ryden. I’m going to send them back.”

 

I knew my angry outburst was not going to really solve the problem. The Painters held more power in each of their pinkies than I did in my whole body for the rest of my prospective life. Hell, the President couldn’t even hold a candle to these guys.  Nobody really knows who they are, where they came from, or what they really look like.

 

Ryden was rubbing his forehead in frustration. “Sen, I really don’t think that you are going to be able to make a difference either way. Yes, the Painters have their own planet, but for whatever reason they like to use ours as their easel.”

 

I could see this conversation was quickly going nowhere, and I really wasn’t in the mood for roundabout arguments on such a nice…purple-skied day. I glanced upwards again, its violent violet fill-in making my head hurt. I placed my palms on the ground and pushed myself up gently. Ryden followed my cue, and after a moment, the two of us were standing side by side, his tall, lean frame towering over me by at least eight inches.

 

We began our casual stroll back into the city; I knew the walk would take a minimum of thirty minutes. I could see the tops of the industrial buildings in the distance from my position midway down the hill we had picnicked on. The edges of the towers were sharp, formal, and gray. Maybe a little splash of color on them wouldn’t be a big deal, but I was still having trouble grasping the same concept applied to nature.

 

As we walked onwards, our shoes making light impressions in the thankfully, still green grass, my mind began to drift to visions of psychedelic pastures populated by brightly colored cows. Before the Painters, the thought may have been pleasing; there’s nothing quite like getting the juices in the imagination flowing. But now that the Painters have come and gone, and come again, the thought sent nervous chills down my spine that caused me to visibly shudder.

 

Apparently my partner strolling beside me noticed the shaking in my shoulders. “You ok there?”

 

For the sake of not starting the argument back up again, I replied with a simple “Yeah” and continued our descent from the hill towards our urban home.

 

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When I settled onto the leather couch in my messy studio apartment, I finally allowed myself to let out the strangled gasp I had been holding in for the entirety of our walk home. I couldn’t help but feel utterly and completely disturbed as I recalled the sights that had greeted my eyes as Ryden and I had meandered back to the developed city.

 

I was undoubtedly unnerved, still trembling slightly as the images of red streets, blue storefronts, and purple shrubbery popped into my head again. At first I thought my mind was just projecting the images onto the scenery surrounding us, but when, after half an hour the streets were still paved with fire-engine red gravel, I began to realize it was horrifyingly real.

 

It seemed as though the Painters had breached the city limits with their boundless brush strokes, but that realization wasn’t the only thing that had shaken me to my core and left my heart palpitating to the choir of multiple drums. I tried to push the images out of my mind, and when that didn’t work I tried to rationalize that I was simply too paranoid, and that my speculations were entirely unfounded. But I couldn’t help but recall the last visit of the Painters before they supposedly left our planet, three summers ago.

 

I remember walking out of my parents’ house, having just finished a light supper of chicken parmesan, fresh green beans, and a never-ending bowl of angel-hair pasta. I remember I was wearing my favorite yellow tank top – I had to be careful not to spill any of the marinara sauce on it, so I ate painstakingly slow that night – and had stepped outside to check the mail. I walked down our front steps and to our standard government-approved mailbox. I had walked with my eyes cast toward the ground, on the lookout for uneven cracks on the sidewalk. When I reached my destination, I finally raised my gaze to open the tin mail carrier. I had to bite back a gasp.

 

Our normally black box was painted a menacing vibrant red. I quickly looked up the street to see that the neighbors’ mailboxes were similar shades of the offending color. I rushed back inside and flipped on the news without a word to my family who was at work on clearing the table and starting the dishes. The salt-and-pepper haired newscaster was pointing fervently to an image on the screen of photograph that appeared to have been taken from a news chopper. It provided a bird’s eye view of our humble city and what I saw made me widen my eyes in plain astonishment. I remember calling out to my parents to come see the television and what would be some of the first shots of the Painters’ invasion, or as the news would later dub it, “The Color Capers”.

 

From that point on, the city and accompanying hills surrounding it would fluctuate its color scheme in varying patterns of madness. Had I been more aware, more observant, I would have noticed that the color schemes back then followed similar routines. Deep royal blues were blotted out by the burning red color only to be smeared a dark eggplant color in the following months. For two years the colors changed, never too often as to startle the general public more than they already were, but frequently enough that people took notice.

 

Now, after strolling home from my mid-day excursion and seeing the same patterns of color aberrations, it finally clicked in my mind. Despite the out of place menagerie of the abnormal colors that had been painted on our city and the rest of world, there was never a color other than those rooted in the blue, red, and purple families. I don’t know how I missed it before; perhaps I was too bewildered by the changing environment. Or maybe because the root colors varied in shade, it wasn’t immediately apparent to the casual observer.

 

Now, after seeing the same daunting trio of colors, a petrifying thought embarked on its irrepressible journey in my mind. What if those colors weren’t just changing because the Painters thought it would look nice? I was beginning to think that the colors were…the colors were vying for a place on top. It was like a widespread game of King of the Hill. Maybe the reason the colors appeared to change so slowly was because the Painters had to keep track of what was colored with what color throughout our whole planet. Now my mind had really begun to weave a tale of factions of Painters squaring off against each other, desperately resolving to best the other color tribes…

 

I quickly flicked on my computer, hoping to do an Internet search on the Painters and the hidden agenda my mind was blaming them of keeping. As my computer buzzed into action, warming itself up, I tried to rationalize with myself and reverse the panic that the conspiracy-like thoughts were spinning around in my skull.

 

When my computer finally clicked on, what seemed like an eternity later, I opened up the Internet browser and searched “Painters + Conspiracy” figuring that I might as well search the terms relevant to my current thought process. My heart nearly skipped a beat when several hundred results popped onto the screen. After scanning through the first few options, I finally opted to try out a site that looked more formal than the rest. The header ran the title “The Painters: Brightening Our Lives or Plotting Our Destruction?” If the situation wasn’t so absurd, I would have chuckled to myself at the author’s bluntness.

 

I navigated through the sidebar links and read the ominous information, cringing internally as I realized my ill thought out theory was not far off base from this site’s information. According to Dr. Tom Ecome, the Painters’ planet originated in the early years of our galaxy’s formation, though their specific location is unknown. They came here uninvited and began “claiming” districts and inventory to hold or bargain with between the coalitions of the various Brushmen, or party leaders, of each of the Red, Blue, and Purple conclaves. The other tribes of colors opted out of the altercation, vowing only to step in if the three sparring Brushmen tumbled out of control. But based on the color wars I’ve seen going on, that seem to have cropped up inside of a day, I feared that control might have already been lost.

 

Standing up from my computer chair, I paced around in front of my previously occupied sofa, wondering what to do with this newfound information. As far as conspiracy theories go, this one seemed to be pretty rational and stated with enough authority to be plausible. I continued my hastened pacing and contemplated whether or not to call Ryden. He would know what do.

 

Ryden was the kind of guy that was there for you. I hope he would continue his impeccable reputation by placating my frenzied thoughts and not shooting me down immediately. After a couple more moments of bouncing back and forth between the idea of contacting Ryden and keeping to myself, I finally decided to pick up the phone and give it a shot. I hesitated before dialing, wondering exactly how to begin the surely awkward conversation. “Hey Ryden, it’s Sienna. So, I’ve been researching conspiracy theory about the Painters online, and it turns out that what they do is not only unnatural, but the beginning of an inter-planetary war!” Yeah, that one sounded good.

 

Needles to say I picked up my plastic phone and dialed his familiar number, warmth already beginning to spread in my chest. The phone rang over the airwaves, once, twice, and a third time before the automated voicemail system prompting me to leave a message could be heard, followed by the characteristic beep signaling that the recording had started.

 

“Hey Ry, it’s me, Sienna. I’m just calling because I came across something really weird online about the Painters. I think you should hear it. It’s pretty –”

 

BEEP! The answering machine cut me off before I could finish my sentence. Annoyed, I smashed the phone done into its cradle. My face suddenly flushed with heat. Deciding to run some water over my face I went to the bathroom and flipped on the light, its incandescent rays filling the small space. I looked into the mirror, noting my bloodshot hazel eyes and the pale complexion of my face. My straight, layered raven colored hair was messy from the constant running of my hand through its tresses. I wasn’t looking my best.

 

I closed my eyes and let the water run from the faucet before cupping it and bringing it to my face. I repeated the process several times before opening my eyes. As the droplets cleared from my vision, I jumped, startled by the sight before me. The water running into the porcelain sink was a strikingly bright blue color. I threw my hands up in disgruntlement and stalked from the bathroom, steam surely spilling from my ears.

 

Sitting back on the couch, I pushed the power button on the television. Almost immediately the tagline of the latest news story assaulted my consciousness. Underneath pictures of empty cars, cubicles, and classrooms lay the chilling headline, “Strange Disappearances”. My heart began to race and all the blood rushed to my head when the next picture was displayed on the screen. A shaky videotape of Ryden’s downtown apartment complex was accompanied by the newscaster’s voice. I raised the volume, trying to fully comprehend the situation.

“I’m here, downtown in front of an abandoned apartment complex. After a thorough investigation, it seems that every resident is missing, including the staff, in what would appear to be a continuation in the string of mysterious happenings in our city. A little past midnight last night, the Painters made their presence known again in a repeat of the previous Color Capers. Are these sudden disappearances connected to their return? Reporting live this is Billy Benson.”

I could barely believe the report. My nerves were dancing as I tried not to imagine what could be happening to Ryden at this moment. I walked briskly back to my computer, pulling up the site I was reading earlier. I clicked around until I found the contact information for Dr. Tom Ecome. Not even stopping to wonder why someone would post their telephone number online, I wrote the digits down and returned to my phone.

 

Nestling myself into the crook of my couch I dialed the number to the professor, ready to fire questions his way. I heard the distinct tone of a phone dialing out before the sounds of someone answering drifted through the speakers.

 

“Dr. Tom Ecome speaking,” a gravelly voice answered after a moment of shuffling.

 

I took a breath before starting my inquiry. “Dr. Ecome, my name is Sienna Backer and I have some questions about the Painters.” No sooner were the words out of my mouth that a flash of bright light enveloped me followed by the ravaging darkness of unconsciousness.

 

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When I came to, I realized almost immediately that I wasn’t in my apartment. The air smelled like wax. I forced my eyes open and sat up tentatively after finding out I had been laid on a pod-shaped bed.

 

I glanced around the room and saw that it was decorated in overwhelming amounts of green and yellow. I stood up on shaky legs and walked to the circular window and looked out. The scenery around me was much like the interior of the room. Green buildings with various shades of yellow landscaping dotted the uneven countryside. It only confirmed my belief that this wasn’t home. The place looked like it had been “painted” in the same fashion that the Painters themselves were noted for. Could this be…?

 

“Welcome to Prismaton,” a gentle voice called out to me from across the room. I turned my head quickly to meet the sound. A single man adorned in draping forest green robes had his arms opened up to me in an inviting manner. I took in his wispy white hair, kind features, and the single sparkling crystal the size of a small pebble embedded in his cheek towards the corner of his eye.

 

I wasn’t too sure what to say so I cleared my throat and smiled at him. He waved me over to a set of dining room furniture and the two of us sat on the chairs across from one another.

 

“I’m Dr. Tom Ecome. As you can see, you have been transported to our planet after querying about the Painters. I presume you saw my web site?” I nodded my head mutely, still trying to fathom that I had just been transported. I knew it was possible, but as far as I knew, it was a mode of travelling reserved only for the higher-ups. “Well then, as you might have already confirmed, my planet is in the midst of a bit of a…altercation right now.”

 

I opened my mouth a little, as he just authenticated my belief that this was the Painters’ home planet. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but are they responsible for the disappearances that have occurred on my planet?”

 

He nodded slowly, his lips set into a grim expression of sadness etched into lines of pain. “Unfortunately, and with my deepest regrets, yes. Would you like an explanation?” I nodded eagerly. Hopefully this would help me get Ryden back.

 

“I’m going to share with you extremely privileged information. Very few people on your planet have ever received this knowledge, and that includes those that you regard in high power positions. Can I trust that this intelligence will be used only in your quest for righteousness?”

 

I answered without hesitation. “Sir, Dr. Ecome, I can promise you that I will not do wrong by this information. My best friend has been taken in the rash of disappearances and I just want him back. And if correcting the wrong that is being incurred on my planet will help him return from wherever he is safely, then I’ll do whatever you want,” I replied, trying to muster as much honesty and sincerity into my voice as possible.

 

This time his smile reached his eyes, the tiny prism in the corner of his eye seemed to twinkle in delight. “Very well. The story of Prismaton begins long ago, before many of the planets in this galaxy and many of the adjacent galaxies had even formed. We developed as most normal planets do, going from simple and often primal conditions to the industrial society that you see we have today. Over the course of time, we developed a system of intricate tools to enrich our world with color.

 

“As you may know, when light refracts through a prism, or a crystal of similar nature, a colored spectrum emanates from the other side, casting its hues onto its canvas. In this case, we designed a sort of prism laboratory where we experimented with ways to refract light onto various settings, or in this case, landscapes, objects, and eventually people. It started off in a very primitive state, simply coloring the atmosphere with a bluish tint, refracting light onto plants to make them appear to be green. Eventually, we were able to reach the highly sophisticated point we are at today. We now have very specialized prisms that are assigned to particular items, down to the most minute of details, such as eye color, specks of dirt, or petals on flowers.

 

“Housing a device like this was not a simple task. As one might be able to gather from this information, a technology like this is incredibly sought after. Its properties and abilities are endless. A simple alteration to the color schemes and prism tactics could change entire nations. Take Earth for example. In the time of the United Sates’ civil wars, the two opposing sides were differentiated by the colors of the uniforms. The Union was blue; the Confederate soldiers wore gray. A simple trade in color could have meant an end of a soldier’s life and could have ultimately changed the tide of the war.

 

“Prismaton experienced a civil war of its own in the beginning. Several factions formed and fought over who was to hold the divine rights to the Prism Chamber, the place where we housed our device for imbuing color on our planet and, in time, the planets surrounding us like the one you call home. Each tribe embraced a color in the spectrum and called it their own. For example, I am a representative of the Green Guard. My group symbolizes harmony and safety. We have no interest in wielding the Prism Chamber for our own purposes, but this is not the case with a few of the other groups.

 

“As you may have noticed, the Red Warriors, Blue Troopers, and Purple Pugilists wanted to take matters into their own greedy hands. They realized they had the potential to scavenge for and essentially colonize our neighboring planets using our technology. They could capture and mark their territories using our prisms. They began this three calendars ago, but my group, along with our sister assembly, the Yellow Legion, put a stop to them. This time though, they overpowered our command and started the process over again, taking it a step farther. They –”

 

“They decided to build an army with the inhabitants of the planet,” I interjected in a voice so low I could barely hear myself.

 

Dr. Ecome bowed his head in reverence. “I am deeply sorry for this invasion. It was never our intention to place this distress on your planet. But I figured I could at least do you the duty of enlightening you with the truthfulness and severity of the situation. At this point, the Green Guard and Yellow Legion are going to see if we can get a few of the other color groups to come together and put an end to this, for good this time. Until then, I am going to send you back to your planet.” The green-clothed man extended his hand to me and I gripped it firmly in my own.

 

I closed my eyes momentarily, letting the details of his lore settle into my core before asking him one last question. “What can I do?” I probed gently.

 

The lines of his mouth rose in a bemused grin. “For now? I must implore you to hide someplace dark. The other color crews cannot reach you with their transportation beams if there is no light to work with. Very soon we will have a plan, and when we do, your phone will ring. You will answer it, and you will listen very carefully to the details of the operation. Our scheme will work, and you will get your friend back.”

 

I shook his hand firmly, signaling that I understood his orders. I raised my head and allowed my features to settle into a face filled with resolve. “Thank you,” I simply stated.

 

He lowered his gaze to stare straight in my eyes. “Thank you, Sienna Backer.”

 

With that, the white light surrounded me once again. I awoke what I assume to be moments later on the sofa I had been in before. I sprinted to my bedroom and grabbed the largest bag I could find, then quickly ran to my kitchen and began packing it with food and beverages. While stuffing water bottles and crackers into the canvas duffel, I chanced a glance out of the window and saw the dull hue of the purple sky fading into a fiery red.

 

Once the packing was done, I made my way to the basement of the apartment complex. Upon my arrival, I pushed open the door, entered the vacant, dark room, and closed the door behind me. I stacked crates against it to hopefully keep intruders out. Settling my bag on the floor next to a tiny cot someone had set up in here long ago, I let my body drop onto the tiny spring mattress.

 

From this point on, I could only wait until I was called upon. Armed with the knowledge of the imminent battle ahead, I slowly let myself drift to sleep, dreams of polychromatic wars on the precipice of my mind.