spectrum

by Amir Szuster

It all began mango-yellow. The way he peeled me, chewed me, satisfied himself with me. All night together, an intense and vibrant flavor. We could spend hours without growing tired, like a child climbing a mango tree before lunch.

Buttered toast for me. A fried egg for him. We ate almost in the same rhythm—a simple, yellow, consistent breakfast.

Lemonade to finish. I always wanted Sicilian lemon lemonade. He preferred Persian lime—more refreshing, he said. Lemon-yellow.

I took my daily turmeric pill. "This tastes horrible, bitter like dirt," he made a disgusted face. "It's good for you," I replied. Turmeric-yellow, dull, powerless.

We left for work together. We talked small talk in the car. I stopped at the traffic light, he planted a kiss on me. Passion Fruit yellow. We were suddenly discussing our plans for tonight.

I was distracted. I didn't see the yellow light. I hit the back of the car in front of me. We pulled over to the shoulder. Hazard Light yellow. He gestured furiously. His first meeting was the most important one of the day.

He signaled for a taxi on the street. He said he needed to go and that we'll talk later. He left impatiently, without saying goodbye. Got into the mustard-yellow taxi, slammed the door hard.

Oil-yellow.

Photo of Amir Szuster

BIO: Amir Szuster is a writer born in Brazil who has lived in Canada, Italy, and Israel. Influenced by the works of Etgar Keret, he is fascinated by the power of brevity. In his free time, he is an avid chess player with a passion for sports, Brazilian music, and literature.