Pinker Days

Theo coughed on the bus on his way downtown. Across the aisle a child was dragging her finger on the frosted window. His throat felt desperately dry. His body noticed the change in the air long before anyone else did. Nearly a year before the stain, the red flecks were still practically invisible to the naked eye, just another residue on the surface of the city. His eyes watered as he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. The little girl turned from the window and stared as he pulled a metallic inhaler out of the breast pocket of his very heavy coat and pulled on it deeply, making a bubbling sound. With a dusty exhalation he felt the muscles in his face relax as he was finally able to breathe smoothly. He had to make it last. He tucked the inhaler into his pocket and pulled out a surgical mask. The little girl had turned back to the window as he adjusted the mask over his face.
He was allowed a free transfer to the train. Fellow commuters beat invisible paths on the sidewalks, down the stairs to the platform.
High above the city, a woman dressed in white looks down onto the early winter street, watching all of tiny people in their urban traversal. With a sharp, bewildered eye she notices that the squares and rectangles of the roofs of lower buildings had become more vibrant, pinker every day as the weather changed.
Theo's mask didn't draw many stares on the train. This was nearly two years before the elaborate and expensive vacuum and filtration systems that would cause a drastic increase in fares while providing a welcome relief from the red conditions above ground. Theo slumped down into an open seat the first chance he got. He clutched his hands around the buttons of his coat and regarded his fellow passengers through crusted eyes. There was a cough here, a sneeze there, but everyone appeared generally dead eyed and comfortable. Men in black suits hung from the hand rails, ties loosened around their necks, coats open to allow some circulation of air around the body.
He watched with disgust a teenage boy offer his seat to an old woman in a long fur coat. She was ancient but perfectly able to stand on her own. She didn't mind at all that every breath she took tasted like cigarettes. She was somehow able to navigate the dark underground transit system wearing cartoonish dark sunglasses. He wondered whether they were glued to her face, chuckling to himself. His face twisted as he saw her pull a pair of ivory colored gloves over her old hands. "White gloves in this city! As though she never had to touch anything!" His laughter gave way to violent coughing, the expulsion filling his mask and stifling him. He pulled his mask down, gasping. A little boy recoiled into his mother's shoulder as she produced a weathered packet of facial tissue from her bag.
"Your nose is bleeding. Are you alright? Maybe you should go up for some air, get a glass of water. You shouldn't take the train if you're sick. What if you're cont--"
"Thank you," he said, accepting the tissue, "I'm getting off at the next stop."
The inside of his mask was speckled with tiny red flecks as he pulled it back up over his face. He stemmed the flow from his nose and felt very weak as he got up to get off the train.
High above the city, a woman dressed in white hears the sound of a vacuum sealed door open into her sterile living room. A man enclosed in a white suit, covering his whole body, addresses the woman through the transparent material of his hood.
"There is a meeting scheduled for two o'clock, ma'am. Should I prepare your lenses?"
"I'd like to wear my vision on top of my face today. I'll attend through the glass."
"Very well," he says as he turns toward the door.
On the street, Theo pulled heavily on his inhaler before wrapping his scarf tightly around his face up to the eyes. His eyes were watering at a gush and clutched the buttons of his coat as trudged through the sidewalk. Finally he turned the key at his destination. He walked down several, increasingly dark staircases until he found the room, glowing red. There was a heavy buzz of insects and electricity. A series of glass tanks were lined up on a stainless steel table, purchased from a restaurant supply store. A man was hunched over one of them, his back to Theo, with his hands submerged into opaque red liquid.
"Welcome home, Theo. You've traveled a long way."
"Yes, Theo. Hello. It's very cold outside."
"Pinker though, right Theo?"
"Yes, Theo, the cold will be good for us as long as we stay warm down here. We don't want to freeze with so much work to do!"
Theo and Theo laughed together as Theo removed his heavy coat.
"I'm going to use the bath, Theo. The drain stop?"
"Yes, Theo, the seal has been replaced. Enjoy."
Theo stood in the bath and disrobed, throwing the suit on the floor. He closed the glass door that encased the bath and heard the splash of his dissolution. As he returned to his liquid state, he was able to relax as he felt himself conform to shape of his container, coat the surface area of the tub, becoming a pool within the white basin.
Three years later, high above the city, a woman takes the delicate, beeping eyeglasses from her suited assistant. "The glass is easier for the tears," she says as she clears her throat to address the virtual conference room She looks through her lensed colleagues transparently superimposed over her large penthouse window. She suppresses her panic and tries to speak, staring miserably at the gentle, hazy red rain falling in a mist over Central Park.