The Holder of Vibrance

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself into. Approach the receptionist’s desk casually, looking around at the architecture and the design details of the room. Do not look directly at the receptionist’s face, lest their ghastly visage be burned into your retinas. As you study the room’s details, casually ask for “The Holder of Vibrance” out of the corner of your mouth. The receptionist will respond with “Beautiful, isn’t it?” and lead you down a corridor.

Follow them, remembering to avoid eye contact. Eventually, the receptionist will stop at a pair of large, wooden doors with cast iron fittings, seemingly from a gothic-style cathedral. They will pull one open slowly, and turn to face you, saying “Enjoy your visit”. If you fail to avert your gaze, your very mind will shatter, in much the same way as a stained glass window. Rather, continue looking around the corridor while casually strolling through the door.

Once the door has closed behind you with a dull thud, take a look at your surroundings. You will be in a long, stone corridor with gothic-style stonework. Through the large, high windows on each side, you will look out to see beautiful lush fields of flowers and large forests. Do not stare at one side too long, or the overpowering forces of life flooding into your eyes may stifle your own life. On the ceiling of the corridor is a vast, intricate fresco, better than even the most famous works of Michelangelo or Da Vinci. On the floor, an exquisite tapestry, better than the finest Persian rugs, stretches out before you. The intensity of these colors assaulting your eyes from all directions will make you want to tear them from their sockets. The corridor will seem to stretch on forever. Keep walking at a relaxed pace, taking in the nearly overwhelming beauty of your surroundings.

As you walk, however, you will notice that the forests and fields are becoming less lush, the fresco on the ceiling less intricate, the runner on the floor more worn and sun-bleached. Walking further, you will also eventually notice that the intensity of the colors are fading, and with it, your own vigor. Eventually, everything will fade to a muddy, dull brown, and then to a perfect grayscale, with no color to be seen at all. The fields outside will become barren and lifeless. The mural will become incoherent scribbling looking vaguely like demonic runes, with the paint flaking off and snowing gently down to the ground. The rug on the floor will become threadbare and rotten, with strange insects crawling between the fibers. Each step will consume more of your stamina, until eventually it feels like another step will cause your collapse, yet you must press on. Should you stop at any point, you will become as withered and pale as the barrenness around you.

Should you endure long enough, you will reach another small, wooden door with cast iron fittings, of the same style as the set at the hallway’s entrance. Looking closer, you will see termites boring through the wood, and rust encrusting the handle. It will seem impossible that the door can still support its own weight, much less the forces of being used. Regardless, you should knock on it firmly and confidently, with three sharp raps.

Should a deep, man’s voice answer in bellowing tones, you would do best to throw yourself out a window to the side, as wasting away eternally in the desolate plains would be preferable to the horrid dismemberment – although the dismemberment would allow you to see color one last time before you die; the rich red of your own blood.

Should a quiet, woman’s voice answer softly, you may proceed. Open and close the door behind you as though it were whole, for if you hesitate and treat it gently, it will crumble to dust, and those termites won’t be very happy about losing their eternal meal.

You will be in a plain grey room, the richness of colors still absent from your vision. Before you, a woman sits with her back towards you, painting and humming a vague tune, occasionally looking out the window in front of her for reference. Do not try to look out the window or at her canvas to see what she’s painting. It is doubtful the human mind could comprehend it.

She will respond to only one question: “What color are they?” If you ask correctly, she will say nothing, but push a small vial off of her desk, which will land at your feet. Pick it up quickly, and stare at it intensely. As you stare, the small quantity of paint therein will start to glow. Within its delicate crystal facets, all the colors of the cosmos shine brilliantly, most unnamed by humans. When you break your focus, you will find yourself standing in the middle of the road outside the institution, the color having returned to the world. A large truck will be heading down the road – it would be wise to jump quickly onto the sidewalk.

With this vial in your possession, you can see the entire electromagnetic spectrum, even beyond the gamma ray and radio ends, into frequencies undetectable by any modern technology. These frequencies may reveal things you wish you hadn't seen. You can track any person by their infrared signature, and can track most objects by their unique radiation. But beware – should you lose the vial’s interest, blindness will be the best of its inflictions upon you.

That vial is Object 353 of 538. Keep travelling; never linger in one city or locale too long. The vial wishes to gaze upon the world.