I’ve dreamed in black and white since I was a child. I thought everyone dreamed in black and white. It was like watching television in the fifties and sixties, because my dreams were grainy, too, and sometimes scenes became snowy and indistinct, as if my mind’s aerial had tipped.
Then, after the thing happened and I went to a therapist, she asked me something about a dream I described to her. “What colour was the sweater?” she asked me.
I was startled by the question. “Grey, I guess.”
And the dress?
The demon’s eyes?
There are no colours in your dream?
“As far back as I can remember. Before it happened, yes, and after too.”
Then you have a quest.
Your quest is to find the person who will compel you to dream in colour.
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can.”
She wasn’t much of a therapist, but I accepted her quest. I am now looking for that person, the one who will compel me to dream in colour.