Days went by, and then weeks, and I tried to be good. I really did.
But those colours haunted my dreams, and I found myself waking breathlessly, greens and blues and purples dancing behind my eyes. I felt them in my chest, like they were calling to me, yearning to be set free.
One night I finally gave in. I tiptoed from the habitation dome and through winding passages, until I found one where I felt hidden and safe.
I pulled out my recorder, and filled my lungs with air until they hurt. Then I threw it all out again.
‘AAAAAAAARHGH!’
Red.
Bright red.
Strong red.
Powerful red.
Loud red.
Echoing red.
‘OOOOOOOH!! IIIIIIEEEIIIIIIEEEE!’
I grabbed for more air, spluttering like a broken steam pipe. I focused, this time, tensing my throat into shape.
Footsteps.
Whatever breath I had left was knocked out of my chest. Shame flooded my mind. Step, step, step. Closer and closer.
Dark, velvet green. Sparkling threads of gold in satin purple. Azure blue, and… And something else. Something black, and terrible.
My family is calm. My family doesn’t rush, or panic.
But I do. I turned, and I ran.
I tumbled down corridors, panting gracessly. I tripped through sanitary partitions, biofilm clinging to my hair.
I tore past a meal-prep rota of six apprentices peeling tubers, who stared horrified as frantic sobs bubbled out of me.
I kept running.
But the footsteps followed, crisp and black, and I realised that I wasn’t hearing one set, but many. I slowed, my bare feet coming to a heavy halt beneath me.
From an arched doorway ahead strode a Carer. I had never seen anyone in The Colony look so furious.
No words were said, after that. The Carers simply gathered me up and walked me to a place called the Ventricle. I’d only ever heard stories.
I’d heard about the room called the ‘exit hall’ where the colony branched out to some other place, a place high above that we’d never really thought about before.
In theory, anyone could come or go from The Colony. But they never did – so I’d never thought to ask where.
I was about to find out.
The Carers firmly, gently, strapped me into a rejection pod – an old, heavy sphere with a hatch in the side. I didn’t struggle. Someone, calm and efficient, pressed a sealed cellopack into my hands.
Then they pressed a button and the hatch creaked closed, and I was alone in the dark.
I didn’t know it then, but I was about to see the Big Sand for the first time.