The day I saw my first colour began with rain pounding on the concrete roof of my room.
     I had been listening to it for at least half an hour before the smell of gunpowder wafting under the steel door made me realize this wasn’t your typical rainstorm. Sitting up on the grey padded bench that served as my bed I raised my nose in the air, taking a deep sniff.
     Now that my senses were more aware I began to pick out other noises amid the gunfire. Shouted commands, muffled into obscurity, punctuated the air at regular intervals. I tipped my head, unsuccessfully trying to make out what was being said. I did hear something much closer than the distant guns however; the tramp of boots echoed nearby.
     All of these events, though strange, I shrugged off. There had been gunfire before, but it always stopped after a few hours. It had never bothered to interrupt my perfectly planned daily routine, or infiltrate my grey box. Instead of worrying about the loudening sounds, I continued with my morning tasks, changing from a shapeless grey nightgown into a grey t-shirt and shorts. The fabric blended into my own skin, being almost the same colour, so it was barely visible despite the glaring fluorescent lights.
     A sudden banging against the door of my small square room brought the outside world crashing abruptly into mine. Before I had time to react, the door was flung open with such force it bounced against the far wall and swung back towards the opening that had been revealed.
     The door was pushed open, more gently this time, and where it had been stood two figures dressed in khaki with green helmets. The fierce black silhouettes of guns were clutched in their gloved hands. It wasn’t the guns that caught my attention however, but the green of their uniforms. Black was just a darker shade of grey after all, but the green was so vibrant, almost hurting my eyes with its brilliance.
     Upon catching my eye, the taller of the two wiped away her grim expression and replaced it with a smile. The other soldier looked at his companion, then back at me, and tried out a smile of his own.
     “You’re free now,” The taller soldier said, still smiling, and releasing the gun, which was attached by a strap around her neck. “We’ve saved you from this prison.”
     I blinked at them for such a long time they began shifting back and forth in their heavy boots, and glancing between each other.
     “Do I have a choice?” I asked finally.
     The shorter soldier frowned. “Of course you have a choice, that’s what freedom is all about.”
     “Then I’ll stay here.”
     “What do you mean? You can’t stay here!”
     “You just told me I had a choice.”
     “Well yes, you do, but staying isn’t one of the options. We’re dismantling this facility, so no one will ever be imprisoned here again.”
     I paused for a moment, thinking this through. It was difficult, with the bright green uniforms drawing my attention and beginning to give me a headache. Closing my eyes made it easier to concentrate.
     “So let me get this straight,” I said at last. “You have come to free me, and I can do anything I want, as long as I come with you and do what you say.”
     Before they could come up with a reply for a question they had clearly not anticipated, another soldier entered the room. He was dressed in similar khakis, but held his nose in the air so high he must have had a perpetually sore neck. This new arrival took in the scene with a level gaze, eyes darting from me to the soldiers and back again.
     “You found another one?” He asked them, as if the answer to that question was not standing before him. “Bring her along with the others. I hope we have enough room in the trucks to get them all safely away from here.”
     “Um,” one of the soldiers spoke.
     The newer one raised an eyebrow.
     “Is there a problem?” He asked mildly, although there was a suggestion of steel beneath that curious face.
     The two soldiers exchanged glances.
     “I don't think she wants to come with us,” One of them said at last, the words tumbling from fumbling lips.
     “Is that all?” The leader asked, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. “Don't worry about that. They're all in shock right now. Just throw a blanket around her shoulders, take her out to the truck, and in a few days she’ll be fine.”
     The leader turned sharply on his heel, boots squeaking on the concrete floor, and left the room, the matter obviously settled.
     This left me and the two soldiers in the same awkward stalemate of before. After a few moments, one of the soldiers knelt down and removed a green camouflage backpack, which he rummaged through. The other soldier knelt down beside him, both of them staring studiously into the dark interior of the bag. At last a bright orange blanket was produced. Both soldiers stood up again in unison, the first one holding the blanket out to me. It wavered in the air, a peace offering hanging between the two parties.
     I blinked at it, eyes watering from the orange glow. The soldiers were glancing at each other again. Finally I reached out and grabbed it, mostly because it looked so forlorn dangling in the air all by itself.
     Both soldiers looked extremely relieved.
     “Come along now,” one of them said, stepping forward and placing an arm around my shoulder to direct me out of my room. I flinched away from the touch, the first human touch I had ever felt, but by that time my brain was so numb from confusion that after the first instinctive reaction I let myself be led away with little fuss.
     I glanced back, just once, before I was hustled into an armoured truck outside, the offensive orange blanket wrapped around my shoulders. The outside world was full of sensory stimuli; brilliant colours, rich smells, and distant birdsong, but all I could focus on was the building where I had grown up. Its stark grey walls rose sharply from the ground, cutting a perfect square out of the blue sky. The last thing that I saw of my previous life was blindingly colourful flames licking up the grey walls, the riotous reds and oranges spreading across everything and consuming it.