Pain is white. When you close your eyes and prick your finger you see white, I believe in this whole heartedly, when I was little you used to push me to the ground and when I scraped my arm against the concrete, I saw white. Do you remember the times when I would ask you to close your eyes and I would pinch you, and ask what color you saw? You never understood what I meant, the colors you said changed like the rainbow going through red, green, blue, purple, and yellow. But you never said white.

When we got older I would ask you again and your answer changed to nothing.

“What color do you see?” I asked, crouched between the wall and the couch. Your mom caught us once and thought I was bullying you.

“Nothing,” you said, your face scrunched up in pain.

Pinch

“What color do you see?”

“Nothing.”

“What color is nothing?”

“Nothing isn’t a color.”

“What is it?”

“Dark.”

“Black?”

“No, just dark.”

After that our game reversed, you would ask me to close my eyes, pinch me, prod me, give me Indian burns.

“What color do you see?” you asked me.

“White.”

“Not nothing?”

“Nope, just white.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“…what does nothing look like?” I’d ask.

“Can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because nobody made any way to say it.”

“Is it big?”

“No.”

“Empty?”

“No.”

“What color is it?”

“I already said, nothing doesn’t have a color.”

“Then how do I know when I see it?”

“You’ll know.”

“How do I see it?”

“I’ll help you.”

Eventually our game escalated. Mom would see me covered in bruises and forbid me to go to your house anymore, she thought you were making me fight. I tried to explain but she simply couldn’t understand.

“What do you see when your happy?” I asked, we met in the store near school. Our moms thought we were studying. It was the only time I got to see you.

“Nothing.”

“I see red.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“…would you be happy if I kissed you?”

“Dunno.”

So you did.

“What color did you see?”

I grinned, “Tons and tons of red.”

So you kissed me again.
We met at that store for years and years, until one day you didn’t show up. I found you a few years later.

“What color do you see?”

Nothing

“What’s it like.”

Nothing.

I look up at your gravestone trying to keep the tears from falling.

“You finally taught me what it looks like.”

Nothing.

I close my eyes and bite into my palm until I taste blood. I can almost hear you say, “What color do you see?”

“Nothing.”