I decided to participate in The Storytelling Collective’s Flash Fiction February challenge. Day 1. Here we go. A gonzo story about Pantone’s color of the year for 2022. Hope you enjoy.
Thanks for reading.
Very Peri
Perry smoothed the front of the sweater, then tugged the sleeves to his wrists. He took a step away from the mirror to ensure the proper lighting in the cramped dressing room. The sweater itched without a T-shirt underneath, but he leaned into the sensation, which was electric, just like the color.
Lavender. A man of blacks and grays, perhaps blue on a particularly adventurous day, Perry never thought he’d feel such affection for a color so unlike his monochromatic existence.
His phone chimed in his pocket. His shift was starting soon. He should have given himself more time. Was he ready? What would they think? This was worse than a new haircut, everyone always asking “did you get a haircut?” when it was blatantly obvious. His face flushed in the mirror at the thought.
“Breathe,” he said. And he did. An inhale at a count of three. An exhale at a count of six.
Perry’s phone chimed again, buzzed. He turned away from the mirror but felt his face warm just the same.
“Very Peri,” the woman behind the dressing room counter said with a smile and a wink.
How did she know his name? That thought lingered until the BEEP at the check-out line from the tag scan.
The clerk smacked his gum, looking Perry up and down. “Very Peri. Nice.”
Perry’s skin prickled, and not from the sweater. His phase 2 phone alarm sounded. Shit.
He dashed out of the store and climbed into his car. He tilted the rearview mirror down to get a second look at his new sweater as if he had somehow missed the fact that his name was plastered across the front.
A face outside his window startled him. A woman tapped the glass. He rolled it down an inch.
Her eyes pushed him back in his seat. “Very Peri,” she said.
“Excuse me?” he stammered.
“Love the color,” she said.
“Oh, thanks. Lavender. I’m usually a black and gray guy, but—”
“Very Peri,” she said.
“How do you know my name?”
“I don’t. It’s the color. Stunning.”
“The sweater? It’s lavender.”
“Periwinkle,” she said. “Very Peri.”
Perry rolled up the window and turned the ignition. He cranked the AC. His skin was on fire.
He squeezed, no, strangled the steering wheel all the way to work.
He checked his reflection on the glass outside the office building. Definitely lavender. “Breathe.”
Stan, the doorman, opened the door for him. “Very Peri,” he said.
“Stop it,” Perry said. “Please. It’s lavender. Lavender.”
Stan’s chuckle chased him to the elevator, which opened with a ding.
Inside, Jill, Mark, and Paul stopped their conversation when they saw him. Almost in unison, Paul lagging behind slightly to emphasize himself, like he always did, they said, “Very Peri.”
“No,” Perry said. “No, no, no. Lavender. It’s lavender.”
Paul almost choked on the coffee he sipped. “You must be very colorblind, Perry.”
Perry’s nails bit his palms. His teeth screeched as he clamped them down. His flesh burned.
“L-look at the tag, P-Paul,” Perry said. “It’s r-right there.”
Paul looked at Jill and Mark with his face scrunched and eyebrows raised, a laugh brewing in his throat. Jill and Mark laughed for him, eyes bulging, then tearing, throwing their heads back as they all slapped each other’s backs, sharing in this moment.
Perry lunged at them with tooth and claw. He bit into Paul’s face, the coffee spraying on Jill, who screamed. That scream and the rest of their protests drowned in the blood beating in Perry’s ears.
Perry bit, chewed, clawed, until all was pulp, all was quiet.
“Breathe,” Perry said, blood spilling from his mouth. He did. An inhale at a count of three. An exhale at a count of—
DING.
The elevator doors, spattered with gore, slid open. Jill’s leg, which was kicked up on them, fell down, landing on Mark’s open ribcage with a crunch.
Bob, always late, stood outside the elevator, arms full with a donut box and a drink caddy stuffed with paper cups.
Perry looked down at himself and his new sweater. It was drenched in red, except for one spot on his shoulder.
The laughter of the dead stormed around Perry, slithering through his head, out his mouth, up his nose, building, building, building—
“Perry?” Bob said.
“Lavender!” Perry shrieked as he threw himself at Bob.
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