My fingertips brushed gently on her cheeks as she relaxed on the couch. The slight moan that escaped from her lips meant that the touch had been enough to wake her up and let me know that I shouldn't stop. She left her eyes closed but rolled the side of her face up to towards me, gently prodding me to continue my delicate touch. A contented sigh filled the air and brought my focus back to her lips. The naturally muted-red of her lips almost didn't require lipstick and gave her a soft glow that showed when she smiled. It was very evident at that moment.

I reached around behind me and took the single red rose from its vase on the stand. It was only a day old and the vibrant red stood out in the room even with the darkness settling in and the soft lights from the fireplace gently filling the room. The brightness of the rose was in sharp contrast to the softness of the petals and I let the petals continue the caressing of her face that I had started.

As the delicacy of the rose brushed the tenderness of her skin, her cheeks began to subtly take on the same redness of her lips in the innocent blushing that was so easy to bring out. The giggle that was heard was not one of humor, but of a sense of knowing where this was leading.

The wood in the fireplace burst into sudden flame as the fire reached a dry spot in the logs. I knew how it felt to suddenly be hot all over and have that passion ignited. The highlights from the fire made her hair take on some of the "strawberry highlights" in much lighter shades of red, but still very evident. The hues danced in the shadows of her long, flowing tresses.

Continually running the rose over her features, listening to her gentle breathing, I stared into the fire. The tips burned with a brighter red in an almost magical way, fading to softer, brighter colors as it moved towards the center of the fireplace. The moment was forever instilled into my mind.

Never letting the rose stop moving, I gently reached over and began to kiss right under her ear, moving slowly down her neck with soft, gentle touches of the lips, just distinguishable enough from my fingertips for her to know what I was doing. As I moved down, it seemed like all of her skin was beginning to blush as well from the contact with my lips.

I gently pulled back the collar of her shirt and was not surprised to see that the strap underneath was red as well and the skin around it was taking on that same hue.

Had the feelings, emotions and love been visible that evening, I'm sure that a gentle red glow itself would have filled the room.

Splash!

John went off the side of the boat, diving gear ready and camera loaded. He had brought enough oxygen for about an hour, plenty of time to get pictures for his article. According to one of the many magazines stacked in John's study, underwater photography was "in." A freelance photographer could get rich off of ocean shots.

As he went into the water, a freezing sensation shot up John's body. A glance at his suit's thermometer told him it was just above 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Not bad for being out at sea. Besides, there was no worry. A quick tug on the line would get him back up in a heartbeat.

Suddenly, as if on cue, a school of orange fish came by. John brought the camera lens up, but then sent it right back down. There must be better, he thought. The fish continued swimming, surrounding John. The camera whipped back up again, this time taking a few pictures. All was going well, until

SNAP! A dull crack from above drove the fish away. The rope, which had been holding John in place, began to loosen up and send him lower. Through the broken surface, John could see arms waving frantically downward. There must just be a problem with the reel...they'll get it.

As he continued on his way down, John began to realize something was really wrong. The light began to float away, and colors so vivid at the surface became dull and insignificant, slowly blending into a dead grey.

A fish swam by, but it didn't seem to be a "regular" fish. Its big, greedy eyes sucked up what little light they could, seeming to just barely make vision possible. Other fish looking the same as the first floated by, doing the same thing. If he didn't know better, John would have thought that he was in some strange, twisted, sci-fi movie.

Sinking lower, the suit's flashlight kicked on. The light bounced off of the oxygen display: 25%. 15 minutes... Before long, he would be out of air, and would only have a few minutes to reach the surface or die.

Many different kinds of fish swam by. All of them looked different-- big, small, fat, skinny, slow, fast-- but all seemingly fabricated of the most dull, grey, nothingness imaginable. Their eyes contained no life. They swam by like robots, not paying any heed to the dying man in the yellow suit. Touching down on the floor, it was easy to see that these fish fit right into their environment: the grey fish ate the grey grasses, which grew on the grey rocks, lying in the middle of a grey nothingness. No color at all.

John suddenly knew what it was like to be color-blind.

John's eyes went over to the oxygen display: 2%. If the crew on the boat didn't pull their act together, and fast, there was no chance of his making it back to tell his story. Tears began to run down John's cheeks. He knew there was almost no chance at all he could make it back alive, and nothing outside of a pull on the rope would convince him otherwise. He took his camera and tied it to the rope; that way, at least, they could have his orange fish pictures.

Orange...so vibrant, so beautiful...compared to this monochromatic hell...
---
A distant roar broke John from his thoughts. As he frantically searched for the source, the roar came again from the other direction. Or was it the other other direction? There was no telling how long it had been since his oxygen display hit 0% and began on the emergency supply. There was likely only five minutes left.

The roar started again, this time seemingly from above. He looked up, but there was nothing but blackness. A current began to form, sweeping John off his feet. He struggled to get up.

ROAR! There before him was an enormous...fish, bright red in color. Amidst the grey of this new world, it seemed as if this six foot long behemoth was on fire. Its teeth were the white hot sparks, and the fins the searing tongues licking at the dead water. Its eyes shone like diamonds, and small blue bubbles from the gills poured over John's body, seemingly protecting it from this massive flaming animal. The fish's mouth widened, and it seemed suddenly as if the fish might be a bit hungry.

Not waiting a second longer, John's hand instinctively reached for his camera, tied to the rope. The flash, illuminating the entire ocean for but a second, blinded the fiery fish. Angry, the giant set of jaws lashed out at John, going for the kill.

Just in time, a tug came at John's waist. The fish's jaws just barely missed him, snapping down right below him. John's mind, reaching the point of overload, sent his body limp. The last thing he saw before his senses shut down with his body was the grey world slowly going to black.
---
"Only four pictures?" The crew on the boat were certainly disappointed. John, the target, was now lying on the deck of the boat, trying to breathe. They continued: "This trip cost us thousands of dollars, and you only got four pictures?"

John took his camera and handed it to them. He may not have gotten many, but he was confident they would change their minds when they saw...

"There's nothing here! That no air...thing...must have messed with your head." As the crew continued to berate him, John ignored them. After all, the bright azure of the sky, the beaming yellow of the sun, and the rough brown of the deck was all he needed.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.