A - Colours

Wazzo was his name, art his game... a tad insane. With his steely
blue can of spray paint and his rucksack full of tricks, he hit the
town. Time to graffiti the city he thought; kill the collective apathy
with subway imagery combed into a statement of the full on kind... he
spoke his mind.

***

Mr. Wancerre was his arch foe. A tad cunning and deeply attached to
un-inspiring colours. An avid hater of art, he sat in his official
bleak office, working at his computer. He had turned the colours of his
monitor right down so that his screen was in black and white: he could
handle looking at it then - otherwise it disturbed him. He despised
colour, and dreamed of a world without it. He dressed in grey clothes,
and had a smog for an aura.

Graffiti was on the rise in the city, and it was his job to eradicate
it. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than to find a hideously
colourful wall or bus shelter, and clicking his thin pale bony fingers
- have a crew of PROFESSIONAL painters whitewash it back to bleak
beautiful blandness.

He watched the bleeping dot on the 3D map as it moved towards the
subway.. he was ready for Master Wazzo today.. oh yes..

***

Wazzo shook the can. A blue background was his trademark, filled with
words, colour, and his idea of visual sound. What shall it be today? He
was feeling a tad bemused, about the latest news; the gossip on the
grapevine, which spoke of political crime; he would write them his
answer in colourful rhyme, make the truth shine. In the hope that the
public spectrum as they passed his work of art; may feel some tug at
their collective heart... be made to think, before they sink.

***

Mr. Wancerre stood in the darkened entrance of the subway; his
silhoetted figure like one of those M.I.B agents. He watched Wazzo with
detached interest. He was itching to click his fingers, but he liked
the fact that Wazzo had not yet been alerted to his presence. He wanted
to savour this glorious moment. For long he had been on the trail of
this phantom artist. Cleverly bugging all cans of blue spray paint in
the city; and when someone had bought a large quantity from a single
store, he knew it had to be Wazzo; stocking up for his trademark
background, it could be noone else. And now finally he had him
cornered, caught in the act of crime. Today Wazzo would be punished,
and his punishment would entail: cleaning up the graffiti from the city
walls. Oh... and now Mr. Wancerre had found Wazzo, he wouldn't let him
out of his sight. No he would watch him like a hawk. He would be a grey
thorn in his nauseatingly colourful side. He would slowly bend his will
to his dark will - teach him of a better way...

***

Wazzo involved in the flow; wrote out his heart and soul upon the
subway wall:

"Eat not the sugary coated meal deal,

Let not illusions steal,

The earth from under our feet.

Put an end to pollution,

Fill the recycle bins,

With a grass roots revolution.

Let not greed and apathy,

Nor the chains of poverty,

Become our extinction."

He drew a picture round his words, to emphasize his verse:

a dark monster-like-cancer eating the hearts and minds of the people;
overseen by a hoary demon rubbing it's twisted hands in glee; as the
world symbolised by a huge wounded ship sank into a colourless
sea.

***

He stood back from the wall, spray paint on his sleeves and gloved
hands. He read the message over and over.. wondering if perhaps he
could have written it better. He was a perfectionist and real fussy,
always trying to make something as polished and neat as he could..
never satisfied...

He was stirred from his creative muse by the sound of mock clapping and
eery footsteps. Looking up he saw a dull figure walk slowly towards
him. The lack of colour in this person made him feel strange.

"Oh it will bring me great delight to watch you white-wash that
message." The bleak figure said, in a whispy whiny voice..

"I aint gonna do that mate. "

"Oh but I am the law, you will do what I say."

"Yeah? Well if you're the law, I'm gonna tell ya the score. I don't
care for your type, or apathy no more. Time is running out, and someone
needs to shout... else we'll all come to nought. "

The grim figure sneered and clicked his pale bony fingers -- in both
the subway entrances: a gloomy crew of grey uniformed security officers
appeared, sporting the universal bouncer pose, Wazzo was
trapped...

***

Mr. Wancerre sat behind his desk, trying to contain his smug grin.
Wazzo looked around un-easily.

"Do you like my grey office?" Mr. Wancerre asked.

"Well, it needs some blue, some orange too; a bit of yellow over there
and some green plants for air."

Mr. Wancerre looked pained at the sound of these colours. "You disgust
me," he said.

"Why?"

"I hate colour."

"Why do you hate colour?"

"Because colour is so distracting don't you think? So unnecessary for
our lives."

"But without it, things would be dull; without the rainbow, life aint
full. Grey on it's own just makes us feel bleak, and in that misery we
are weak."

"I am happy."

"What with a scowl like that, and you sound so flat. Don't you ever
watch a sunset on a clear day... "

"No, I prefer it when it's grey."

"But the magic of colours mixed in the sky. Don't you ever feel a
natural high?"

"No, I think I'd rather... die."

"But how can you be happy when you don't see much colour? Why do you
alienate yourself, look at only part of the picture?"

Mr. Wancerre got out of his seat and turned his back to Wazzo, he
stared at the grey blind which shut out the sunlight from his office.
"You'll learn Wazzo, I once had foolish dreams like you. But dreams are
like snakes that bite us and poison us with their venom. You're still
young, you don't yet see what I see, you haven't seen what I'VE SEEN.
but you will, in time you will learn... what I learned. "

"Who are you?"

"I am the herald for a new way. I will eradicate all colour from this
world, and those that promote it. I will not rest till this world is
without colour."

"Why? Why do you want to be like this?"

Mr. Wancerre clenched and unclenched his fists. " I have my reasons, "
he said.

Suddenly a dull grey light flashed frantically on his desk and an
anxious voice spoke through some speakers on the wall. "Sir, we have
trouble, a large group of artists have broken into the building. They
have tied up our security and are spray painting the walls. They are
heading for your office. They demanded we told them where Wazzo was -
apparently he's there leader."

"What?" Mr. Wancerre became furious. He began pacing up and down his
room. " No, this is outrageous, you call yourselves security. Everyone
of you is fired; back to the miserable dole queues you go. You shall be
replaced by PROFESSIONALS who don't behave like complete morons in a
crisis.." He pressed a switch on his desk and one of the walls slid
open to reveal a secret passage. "And as for you," he said looking at
Wazzo with malice in his eyes. "Don't think cause your friends have
come for you, you can escape so easily; it isn't finished between us
yet."

He went to grab Wazzo by the hand, to drag him with him -- but Wazzo
leapt from his seat, and darted to the window, pulling the cord which
opened the blind -- flooding the room with bright sunlight. Then the
door suddenly flew open, and in charged a gang of youths holding
spraycans, they began to spraypaint Mr. Wancerre's office with
obscenely bright colours. He wailed in horror and ran, fleeing down the
secret passage. Wazzo followed, with some of the others. They chased
him through twisting winding tunnels till eventually they entered a
dark garage -- but got there too late -- and watched, as Mr. Wancerre
drove off screeching in a pale car with black windows, that left
nothing but a noxious grey cloud trail of coughing smoke.

"Damn, he got away." Wazzo said gasping for breath.

"Are you alright?" one of the artists asked.

"Yeah."

"We came as soon as we heard about your arrest. Who was that
man?"

"Our enemy." Wazzo said. "We cannot win this war unless we change the
style of that colourless man. I do not know what it was about him, but
something familiar sang; like I've met him before, but from where I
can't recall." He sighed for a long moment deep in thought, then
smiled. "Thanks for rescueing me, helping me get free; better get out
of here though, best not hang around, gather the warriors go back
underground. They'll be coming here soon in larger numbers than us;
can't let them kill our creative buzz. We are the hope of this nations
fate; got to fight for colour, before it's too late; use our
intelligence to win this war, with Mr. Wancerre, we must settle the
score... "

to be continued....