Everything was there when I was born, but I did not know of its existence until I gave it a name. Gradually things came to be. The Mother and the Father. Food, Water, and Sleep. Yes, and No. Fortunately, the names for things were presented to me. They came in the form of sounds. Every object had a sound. Everything had a sound. Even sounds had sounds! Without sound, what would I call these things? Would they each have a shape to go with them?

With every new name, the world grew, becoming colorful, and beautiful. I created such a massive amount of detail, that no matter how many pages you wrote, a book could never describe what I was experiencing. I created, the feeling of water running through my hands. I created wind, and I would watch it tumble and push the leaves across the ground. I even created the taste of garlic and butter.

Then I created Love, and the shit hit the fan.

Hate, Pain, Sadness, and Fear, all tore their way out of love, like animals clawing their way out of a bag. They plagued my life, and the lives of others around me, causing discontent and worry. It hurt, but it also added depth to my life. The pain and sadness brought with it wisdom and a deeper understanding of the world. The hate and fear grounded my reality, bringing me back into the moment. As I grew up I strove to understand my creations, and with every bit of knowledge gained, the universe grew that much bigger. My world became what I perceived it to be.

With each day that passes I continue to create my world. It exists as much in my memories and imagination, as it does in real life. I am still quite young, so the world I have created is tiny. But I strive to expand it through an eclectic array of knowledge and experiences. There is no day of rest, and there never will be. I will continue to create my world until I die, and as far as I know my world will die with me.

The king of black walked up the white marble stairwell that led to his friend’s solar. His footsteps echoed up and down the hall, which did nothing to make him feel any less nervous. What could he want with me? thought the king of black. His friend, the king of white, had sent a messenger summoning him to the realm of white. Not used to summons from his friend, the king of black had left his country the day of, and rode with all speed to the king of white’s palace. Now that he was here, he was both eager and nervous to hear what his friend had to say. The king of white was a dutiful man, and his kingdom was vast. He was not one to waste his time idly catching up with old friends.

The king of black reached the top of the stairwell and knocked on the ornate door that led to his friend’s room. “You may enter,” the king of white called out from inside his room. The king of black opened the door and walked inside. The room was austere. There was a couch next to a fire place, and a small bed rested in the corner. You would never guess that the room belonged to a king. He saw his friend standing by the window, looking out with an intent expression on his face. He seemed focused and tight. His shoulders were drawn up and un-relaxed, while his arms clutched the sill, completely straight and stiff.

“Hello Irvin,” the king of black said quietly.

“Luther,” the king of white said warmly, turning from the window. His shoulders relaxed and he walked over to give his friend a hug. When they broke apart, Irvin looked Luther up and down. “You look tired. Was there trouble on the road?”

“No, it’s just been a long journey,” Luther replied. “You seem to forget how far apart our kingdoms are.”

Irvin nodded. “I don’t forget, I just wish it weren’t so. I appreciate you coming so quickly. I need your help.”

“Straight to business then.”

“I imagine you’re curious.”

“Very. I’ve had nothing but my thoughts to accompany me the last few days.”

“Then I will be straight with you, and try not to dance around the subject too much.”

“I appreciate it. What do you need?”

Irvin hesitated for a moment. “I want to unite the kingdoms.”

Luther frowned “Unite them? How do you mean?”

Irvin walked back over to the window. “I want to bring all the colors together under one crown.”

Luther shook his head, confused. “What for? The countries have always been separate.”

“Yes, but together as one nation we could be so much stronger; we could accomplish so much more.”

“You mean to bring all the countries under your rule. It sounds like a ploy for power. This isn’t like you Irvin.”

“It’s not a ploy for power. You and I would lead the countries together. We have always done what was right for our kingdoms. We would just be spreading our success to the other realms.”

Luther let the information sink in. His friend had always been ambitious, but this was different. “Why do you want this?”

“It is not out of greed. I know that is what many will think, but I assure you my motives are pure.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Irvin looked down and sighed. “White contains all other colors, Luther. I feel that it is my destiny to unify the countries. I feel that I can build a world with no war; a world of peace.”

“The country you speak of would be built upon the foundation of war. How can an empire be at peace when it is created with bloodshed and pain?”

“That is why I need your help. Our kingdoms united would be larger than all the other countries put together! They could never stand up to us. They would surrender, and the war would be over before it started.”

“The kingdoms are apart for a reason. You would stain the land white with your rule. It would be a bleak nation, of one color. I will not support you in this, and I do not want to hear more of it.”

“Please Luther, for our friendship's sake. If you could only see my vision.”

“You cannot count on my help, Irvin. I’m sorry.”

The king of white looked at Luther coldly. “Then our friendship is over. You are blinded by the darkness of your own kingdom. Leave me. Leave my country!”

Luther turned and left his friend’s room without a word. The echo of his footsteps hammered into his ears, as he walked down the stairs. The king of black left the palace and mounted his horse. He rode hard for his home. With each mile, he grew more and more disturbed by his meeting with the king of white. What would drive him to such thoughts? The realms thrived on their differences. They were unique and diverse. It was part of what made the world so beautiful. They had fought in the past and would fight in the future. But that was the price for individuality.

Luther returned to his kingdom, and ruled for many years. For the first year, he had his ear to the ground, listening for any sign that Irvin had gone forward with his plans. But after hearing nothing he began to relax. When it was clear that the king of white had given up on his dream, Luther began to miss the company of his friend. They had been close. Opposites, but friends. The king of black decided to take a trip to the country of white, hoping to make amends with Irvin.

He rode his horse through the countries, admiring their colors as he passed through each one. But when he reached the border of green and red, he saw something troubling. He pulled back on the reins of his horse and dismounted. Bending down, he picked a rose. Its petals were faded. Instead of a bright red the petals were a light pink. In the kingdom of red, roses were always a vibrant scarlet, but this one looked almost white. Luther pricked his thumb on one of the thorns, and a trickle of blood ran down his hand. His blood held only the barest hint of red. Luther ran over to a tree and picked an apple. Apples were usually so deep in color you felt warm just looking at them, but this one looked faded and cold. What Luther saw when he looked around, horrified him. All the reds were faded. Flowers, birds, ladybugs, all of them looked pale. He frantically searched for something that was a true red. But everything looked washed-out, as if it had been bleached. The influence of the king of white had stained this land. Irvin went ahead with his plans, thought Luther. And he did it right under my nose.

What other kingdoms have been taken? How far does Irvin’s hand go? I have to stop him, but what can I do? He was no killer, and Irvin was his friend. Luther's heart sank when he realized what he had to do. But he could see no other solution. The king of black took a deep breath, and rose from the stump. Mounting his horse, he rode towards the kingdom of white with a new purpose. Luther looked around at the world, taking everything in for the last time.

Once again, the king of black found himself walking up the white marble staircase. In his hand was a bottle of brandy, which he clutched fiercely, as if he was afraid of it. His echoing steps now seemed so far away. He knocked on the door of Irvin’s solar. “Enter,” said Irvin. Luther thought he heard a certain tone of command in his friend’s voice, that he did not recognize. With an apprehensive hand, Luther opened the door. Irvin’s rooms were more lavish than they had been last time he visited. The walls were no longer bare, and Irvin’s normally sparse room was now draped in fine silks. “Luther!” the king of white said surprised. “I was not expecting you.”

“I came to apologize.”

“Apologize?”

“Yes. I let the argument we had come between our friendship. I have missed talking with you. I was wrong to reject your plan so rashly. I still do not agree with you, but I now understand that your motives were impersonal and you wanted to do what you thought was right.”

The corner of Irvin’s mouth tilted up in a small smile. “I missed you too. But I don’t suppose I will ever persuade you to help me.” Luther shook his head. “Then I expect my plans will never be.” Luther shook his head again. Irvin looked down sadly. “I would have loved to rule this world with you. We could have made it…great.”

“The world is already great. One has to only to walk around the kingdoms to see it.”

Irvin nodded and said, “If it was not meant to be, I won’t push the matter. And we can once again be friends.”

“Nothing would make me happier.” Luther watched Irvin’s eyes as he said this. There was guilt there and sadness. The king of white still planned to proceed with his conquest. The knowledge made Luther’s heart feel even heavier.

“Did you pass through the red kingdom?” asked Irvin.

“No I went through purple. Why do you ask?” He said, knowing the answer to the question.

The king of white faltered for a second then said, “I was hoping you picked up some wine on your way here. I’m getting sick of white wine, it seems to be the only thing we have to drink around here.”

Luther put on a false smile. “I may have something to remedy that.” He showed Irvin the bottle of brandy. “Strongest brandy in the kingdom of black. I thought we could toast our renewed friendship.” Luther opened a cupboard and pulled out two glasses then poured each of them a healthy amount of the brandy. He picked one up and handed the other to Irvin. The king of white looked suspicious, but Luther pretended not to notice. Luther held his glass up “To black and white and all the other colors of the spectrum.”

“To black and white,” echoed Irvin. He watched as Luther took a drink before he brought the glass to his lips. When they finished drinking, they both pursed their lips, then descended into coughing fits “You weren’t joking when you said-“ Irvin coughed again and Luther patted his back “-when you said this was strong.”

“You’re just used to white wine,” laughed Luther. He poured them both another glass.

“Another one?” The king of white said, Incredulous.

“The more you drink the easier it gets. And an occasion like this deserves getting properly drunk.”

“Hah, I see you haven’t changed.”

The two of them drank well into the evening. After a few hours, the bottle was gone and the two drunk kings could hardly stand. They retired to two chairs next to Irvin’s fireplace. Luther’s vision started to blur, and he knew the brandy was working.

“Luther? I can’t see anything,” said the king of white. “Can you tell me if my eyes are open because all I see is dark.”

“You’re going blind,” said Luther. “And so am I.”

“I’m not going blind. Don’t be so dramatic, there’s just something wrong with my vision. Maybe I’m blacking out.”

“You’re going blind Irvin. I put wood alcohol in the brandy, it causes blindness.”

“What?! Why would you do that!?” shouted Irvin. He stood up and bumped into the table were their glasses rested.

Luther leaned back into the chair and stared up towards the ceiling. His vision faded into complete darkness. “I saw what you did to the country of red. You did not listen to me. You went behind my back, and invaded the red kingdom.”

“It’s my purpose! I am to unite the colors, so we can have peace.”

“You were going to destroy color. But now you never will. There cannot be a blind king. There never has been, and there never will be.”

Irvin grabbed one of the glasses and flung it toward Luther. He missed, and the glass crashed against the wall. “Damn you! I will not have my country stolen from me. This changes nothing; I will still be the king of colors. You failed Luther, you gave up your sight for nothing.”

“I gave up my sight to protect what I believe in. I am sad that I will never see color again, but I know enough that if I don’t move on, I will never again be happy. Because I will never have what I hold most dear. You want to see the world united by the color white, but you will never see it. If you do not give up this foolish dream of yours, you will live the rest of your life angry and restless.”

“Guards!” Irvin called out, and several knights stormed into the room. “Take this man away, I want him to live the rest of his life in a cell.” Without a word the guards seized Luther from the couch and dragged him from the room. He did not fight, he just closed his eyes.

The blind king of white kicked the chairs over and screamed in rage. He shattered his window, and tore down the drapery that adorned his room. He spent a long-time shouting, and cursing Luther’s name. Then finally he felt his way to a chair, and stood it back up. He sat down, and began to cry. He would never see the color white again, and that meant that he would never again be happy. It was during these dark thoughts that he came to a decision. Blind or no, he would fulfill his purpose, and become the king of color. They would call him the Blind King of Color, but he would rule the land all the same.

I woke up startled, the last traces of a dream slipped from my memories. I looked around the room confused; I didn’t know where I was. I saw a television in the corner to the left of me, as well as a window, but the curtains were drawn. It was night time. To the right of me, there was a countertop with a sink and bottle of disinfectant. The room looked like a hospital ward, but I didn’t know how I knew what a hospital looked like. I looked down towards my toes. My leg had been bandaged, and my arm was in a cast. I tried to sit up, but my ribs protested and stars of pain flew into my eyes.

The door to my room burst open, and a nurse rushed in. “Don’t try to get up just yet sir,” she said. “We’ll notify your wife you’ve woken up.”

“My wife?” I asked, puzzled.

“Yes, your wife…Mrs. Brightsmith.” She looked down at a clipboard on the counter. “Diane Brightsmith.”

“My name isn’t Brightsmith. You must have the wrong patient.”

“I’ve been with you since you got here, sir.”

“I don’t know anyone by that name. I’m…” I faltered, struggling to remember my name. I felt like I knew it, but I couldn’t bring it to memory.

“You suffered a serious a head injury; you’re probably just a little confused. You should get more rest.” I leaned back and relaxed a little. The aching in my ribcage subsided. “I will contact your wife, sir; I’m sure she will be here shortly.” I nodded and closed my eyes. I tried to remember what my wife looked like; I tried to remember her at all.

By the time she made it to the hospital, it was early morning. An orange ray of sunshine had crept its way through the drapes covering my window. The woman who was supposed to be my wife was standing outside the door, talking to the doctor. She had come into the room earlier, but I pretended to be asleep. I’m not entirely sure why. I guess I didn’t know what I would say to her.

She and the doctor stepped into my room. My eyes were closed, but I could feel their presence. My wife walked up to me and put her hand on my arm. “Harry,” she said. “Love, are you awake?”

Harry. That must be my name, I thought. It didn’t ring any bells. I opened my eyes slowly, trying to make it seem like I was just waking up. The woman bending over me smiled, and her eyes teared up. “I’m so happy you’re okay,” she said, putting her hand on my cheek. She bent over and kissed me. It was odd to be kissed by a stranger. Her lips were unfamiliar against mine, and it brought back no flood of memories. No sudden remembrance. She pulled away, and I looked into her eyes. They were the darkest shade of brown, beautiful and deep, but they held no inner truth for me. I must have been looking at her strangely because her eyebrows drew up with concern. “Love, it’s me,” she whispered.

The doctor walked over to my bed and stood next to my wife. “Harry, do you remember what happened?” he asked. I looked at him. He was holding a clipboard, and his arms were relaxed and hanging by his sides.

I shook my head, but that made me dizzy. “No,” I said. My voice sounded strange.

“What’s the last thing you do remember?”

“I was…” I paused unable to think of anything. The last thing I remembered was the nurse coming in to check on me a few hours ago. “Nothing since I woke up.” My wife put her hand to her mouth, and the tears that rested in her eyes started to make tracks down her cheeks.

“You were in a severe car accident. It’s possible the blow to your head has caused some memory loss. I need you to think hard, is there anything you can remember? Can you remember your wife?”

I looked at her, and she stared back, with an intensely pained expression on her face. I wanted to say I remembered. I knew that it would mean everything to her if I did, but I couldn’t. “No,” I said. My wife looked at me, horrified. Then she broke into sobs.

The doctor put his hand on her shoulder. “I’d like to try something else,” he said. “Mrs. Brightsmith, do you have any pictures with you? Maybe on your phone?” She looked up at him and nodded. Her eyes were red, seeing them put a stone of guilt in my chest. “I’d like you to show him some photos of your past together if that is okay with you Harry?”

I took a deep breath. “If you think it will help.”

“I think it might.”

Hope sparked in my wife’s eyes. “Okay,” she said and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She flipped through some pictures, and then showed me one of a young woman with chestnut hair. “That’s our daughter.”

My throat caught. “I have a daughter?”

My wife looked at the doctor. “Keep going,” he said.

My wife continued. “Yes, we have a beautiful daughter. She’s going to school in Michigan.” She kept flipping through photos then stopped on one with a bunch of people. “This is us at the family reunion. That’s your mother, and that’s your father,” she said, pointing out a cheerful looking woman and a tired looking man.

“Who is that?” I said, pointing to a dark-haired man.

“That’s your brother.”

“And him?” I pointed to a taller man with brown hair.

My wife looked at the doctor again. Worry and concern were written across her face. He leaned over to look at the picture then frowned. “Harry, that’s you,” he said.

I looked at him confused, then looked back at the picture. “No, that can't be. I would know, wouldn't I?" I looked back up at the doctor; there was pity in his eyes. He walked over to the sink and pulled a mirror out of one of the drawers and offered it to me. I grabbed it with my good arm. Afraid to look into it, I gingerly brought it up to my face. I did not recognize myself in the mirror. I had chestnut brown hair and a short beard. But the eyes that stared back at me were the eyes of a stranger.