"We should check it out." you say, encouraging them. "It'll only take a minute," you add.

 

"Probably just some dumb workers." Matlock says. "I'm gonna hang up here and wait. You and Xavier can go see if you're so inclined."

​

Xavier nods in agreement, and the two of you retreat down the ceiling exit. Back inside, you creep down the stairwell, searching for any sign of activity. Recognizing faint whispering, you motion to Xavier to be silent behind you and continue down the stairs.

​

Reaching the stairwell landing, you peer down at the ground floor. Next to the staircase, four golden Colors are huddled together speaking quietly among themselves. You duck back out of sight and motion for Xavier to head back up the stairwell. 

​

Following Xavier, you finally reach the storage closet again. "Four golden Colors downstairs," you whisper to him. "We need to get Matlock and leave. Now." 

​

Xavier nods steadily, indicating his agreement. As he moves toward the ladder, his foot collides with a stray toolbox on the ground, knocking it to the ground. In an instant, tools pour out onto the linoleum, metal clanging together loudly.

​

"Shit!" Xavier whispers, all-too loudly.

​

As if on-cue, the cohort of four golden Colors appears toward the top of the stairwell. You freeze.

 

"Boys weren't expecting us, I suppose?" cracks one of the golden Colors. "We could say the same thing," she laughs as the group edges up the stairwell toward you.

​

"Come no closer!" you shout. You look around the landing wildly, desperate to find a fire escape or window from which to exit.

​

"You're gonna have to do better than that," she replies, howling with laughter. You continue to lock eyes with her, noting the ajar window on the wall to your left.

​

In an instant, you dash toward the window and jump into the alleyway below. The one-story drop stings your ankles, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins relieves some of the pain.​

​

You turn back toward the window, where you hear Xavier shriek hysterically. Guilt begins to wash over you, but then you remember that they may be coming for you. You sprint back out the alleyway, tearing through Old Square to Street #6 as you seek refuge at home.

​

​

At home that evening, you remain glued to the window. You find yourself scanning every passerby, wishing that one will turn-out to be Matlock or Xavier.

 

Deep down, you know they're gone, but you hold out the slightest bit of hope for their return. You want to see their smiles. To apologize for having to leave them. To apologize for their deaths. To apologize for so many things.

​

Turning away from the window and the Moon suspended high in the sky, you exhale a deep sigh as you walk toward your desk. Rifling through its top drawer, you find an ancient zippo lighter your dad once gave you. T

 

With the lighter in-hand, you flick open its top, in-effect igniting its modest flame. Tossing the lighter into your trash can, you stare at the flames as they gradually sear your purple Colors into ash.