Color [3]

A world without any color. A world devoid of anything.

His world.

It was boring.

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An endless, colorless expanse. That was his perspective of the world from the moment of birth.

Everything was muted, as if the world had been drained of life.

The sky, the ground, even the air around him—it was all gray.

His perception of the world was starkly devoid of vibrancy, a monochrome nightmare that stretched on forever.

He tried to move, to shake off the numbness that crept through his limbs, but the world felt heavy, like wading through molasses.

Every step was a struggle, every breath a laborious task.

It was as though the weight of his own perception was bearing down on him, suffocating him with its sheer emptiness.

His world was a world without color. He was an outlier, with a different perception of reality than others.