Check out my entry for the commonwealth essay competition:

The only source of light in the dark room was the blinding spot light that hung firmly from above.

Another drop of anxious sweat trickled down. Despite the eyebrows, it ended its journey down by the chin. Its grip against the skin loosens. And it fell off. It broke and shattered into smaller pieces at such an impact when it crashed on to the floor. There was noise. Maybe it did scream, or shriek, but the sound was so minuscule that nobody noticed.

Above the very spot where it had just met with its fate, stood a person in light green colored clothing. And beside and around him were few people just similar to him. They might be replicas of him. But there’s a different story behind each of those masks. Every one of them was anxious and perspiring. Yet, they seemed confident. Maybe the confidence was just façade to cover up their anxiety. Maybe it was some kind of comfort to their shaking limbs. They were gathering around their “specimen”. Their hands were trembling. But they were skillful enough to handle with their “specimen”. The blinding spot-light above their head started to grow weary. It was just considering about taking a quick nap when its drowsiness was driven away by cheers and congratulations.

The patient was wheeled out of the surgery room which was now filled with an air of victory which wasn’t there 6 hours before. And in the waste paper basket in the surgery room, two eyeballs laid unwanted there.

Mr. Enigma woke up. He was just going to get out of his bed when his sensitive sense of smell told him that he wasn’t at home. Where was he then? Questions started to bombard into his fragile brain. Out of curiosity, he got off the bed without any second thoughts. He made his first step, then his next. At his fifth step away from the bed, an acute pain shot through his left wrist. Like any other human instinct, his right hand moved over to his left, but, instantly, suffered the same fate like the left. Under such unexpected “surprise”, he got back to the bed and sat down, with deep thoughts. He soon had the solutions to the questions that had rained on him a few moments before. He knew where he was now.

He moved his hands to his eyes. Something thick but soft separated his fingers from his eyes. His index and middle finger of his right hand like a graceful ballet dancer moved along the bandage that had wrapped his eyes. The dancer was looking for the latch. The latch that had hold the bandage up for protection to his eyes. Once found, the latch was being forced open and the yarn cloth that had served as the bandage started to fell off, layer by layer. He did not move his arms. He was too excited to move. As he felt the final layer of cloth fell off his eyes, he tried to open his eyes. But his nerves refused from doing so. After much struggle, an overwhelming strength from nowhere broke open his eyelids.

At the very second his eyelids broke into a narrow slit, White barged through his pupil and darted for his yellow area, which immediately rushed through his optic nerve and up to his brain. The force was at such an impact, that his brain suffered from a loud thud. At that very same moment, the thud had created a wave towards his auditory nerve, causing an incessant buzzing in his eardrums. And at that very moment, searing pain broke into every nerve of his head, resulting in a terrible headache. With human instinct still in him, he closed his eyes at the very next second and like a magic, the buzzing faded away like it wasn’t there before.

“Hello.”

He was surprised. Who could be talking to him? Puzzled, he replied.

“I am sorry, but may I know your identity?”
“I am what you saw just now.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“I am White.”

The voice wasn’t harsh. He was sure that White was someone. Maybe the doctor. And his nerves told him to open his eyes without any second thought. No one was in sight. No objects. Nothing. But it wasn’t the usual darkness that he had been staring for years. This one was brighter. And he felt calm for the first time. So this must be White. A color. And he found his stare locked on White for the next few moments. And the moments seemed like eternity to him. His usual sulky face broke into a smile. A smile that represents his satisfactory. At least he was contented now. His hunger and crave for looking at colours since the loss of his sight at his birth had been fulfilled. Colours are indeed beautiful especially this one in front of him. His mother was right. But wait, according to his mother, there are a lot of colours. He wanted to see another colour. Just one more.

As if a conjurer had just heard what he said, someone started to spoke to him.

“Greetings. I am Yellow.”

The voice came from his left. He turned to the direction of the voice. There, stood Yellow. It was another colour. It was much brighter than White. But there was something that he couldn’t describe. There was difference between these two colours. He just couldn’t describe. Yellow gave him the feel of guileless. He was happy. He wanted to share this happiness with his mother. But where was his mother? His mother had told him that colours are beautiful. He knew it now. But where was his mother? At the very moment he was questioning himself where his mother was, another thought of greed sprang up. Why not see another colour? Since he was able to see two colours, why not the third? His greed insisted on it. And so he did.

This one was a deeper colour. It was like the colour he used to see. Dark. But this one was a little brighter. It sent chills down his spine. He could feel his blood veins thumping in him. His fear of this strange colour wanted this colour to fade away.

“Go away.”
“But I am Red.”
“That does not matter.”

His words were cold and hard. He wanted this colour to disappear. Compared to the two colours behind, this one was a lot more horrible. He was fuming with rage as each moment passed by and Red wasn’t leaving. He finally got so annoyed and irritated that he started to shout.

“Get out of my sight!”
“Well, I will so.”

But Red did neither budge nor move. And as he was starting to get mad, new colours started to appear in his eyes. And they introduced themselves. He soon got so engrossed in them that he didn’t notice that Red was still standing beside.

“I am Blue.”
“Greetings, I am Maroon.”
“Purple.”
“I am Green.”
“They call me Pink.”

But, suddenly, the colours started to go rigid. Though more and more colours came into sight, he could barely hear what they were saying. They were fast. Someone might have accidentally knocked on the button fast forward. But it wasn’t. He could now barely see the colours. And then something terrible happened. Shrieks and screams were heard. The colours was screaming and shrieking in agony. It was like hell. The colours flashing in his sight continuously made him afraid. He started to shiver. He panicked. The hysterical shrieks that kept ringing in his ears made him insane. He too started to scream. Shriek. Shout. Finally the colours came to an abrupt end. Black.

The surgeon came into the room. He had heard the terrible news. The patient that had just came out of the surgery room 3 hours before had suffered such a terrible fate. Fear was written on the patient’s face. And if the scene was drawn into an art piece, there wouldn’t be much difference compared to the familiar painting done by the famous Norwegian painter, Edvard Munch.

“Poor thing. He only had three hours of sight. But well, at least he did see colours, didn’t he?”

And as paramedics came in to take the lifeless body away, the surgeon left the room with a grin.