A Few Colors

Today was like a million drops of dark chocolate syrup and splotches of blood under a summer day’s sun. It was like finger-shaking cross-stitching and yogurt, landing in between frames and cups of mango bits plus rainbow sprinkles.

by Adam

The library was closed during lunch time and so I engulfed the raindrops of sunshine under the roof and peered through the glass, scanning the shelves and pillars of books – pages were left open, then later they blinked at me like a pair of butterfly wings. Clouds dunked in Microsoft blue and paper white littered the sky as raucous chatter pushed on and on to exceed one of many limits. My heart – a cavern – hungered for answers, scrambled toward the door and almost left my mind behind with nothing to give. Daydreams hung around notoriously, and I rowed onward.

I drank the light of last night’s lamp like my last gulp of iced tea. My languid kicks brought me to a room stirring with finality, a place where I could breathe in and out with pruney fingers. Buh-reathe.

Thank you.

An Escapist's Flight

“Do you miss them?”

The crickets sung with the twinkling of the stars, pushing away any silence left. The cold air gripped on my skin, licked the strands of dry hair away from my eyes. I could feel the ocean under my fingertips, conducting the waves the moon didn’t pull anymore. The ignition of contentment burst through me and dared to tickle the corners of my mouth. I didn’t feel lonely because the violet sky was there. The magic was there. The happiness was there. I could taste the glitter on my tongue so pronouncedly.

“Miss who?” I inhaled a tank of air through my nostrils, savoring the infectious smell of heavenly butterfly wings and wet bamboo, doing my best to remember. I cherished the sound of wind chimes below me, under the roof. The shadows projected on the tress buzzed aloud with the lively lullabies of the night, caring only for the sad, torturous hymns of the faraway lands. I still felt the cold tears screeching down my face. Haunting, fresh, little openings carelessly cut open.

An escapist’s dream come true was the never-ending loneliness a lifetime could bring. Reality wasn’t life for me; it was a trap I recklessly fell in. Lured by the curiosity eating my vision, I tested my survival in the social beings of earthly minds, synchronizing all their bare wants and aspirations. My eyes were red with the cruelty of things unseen. Unseen by society, puzzled and misunderstood and excoriated perhaps.

Nothing will ever be better than an escape for an escapist.

“Friends. Family.” Again, the ocean waves tugged under my toughened fingertips, but like a flame they burned through the horizons I have seen from afar. The days have been submersed for too long and are almost unfamiliar even through the transparency of the water.

It felt like I just woke up.

“No,” I whispered, hugging myself, scratching my sides, “I don’t.”

“Why not?” The thunderous boom quaked and convulsed, stunning my ribs and flicking on the sad electricity in my eyes, whispering all the hundreds of echoes of reminiscence to my eardrums. The shrill feeling of being yanked back into the state I would rather not be in traumatized all I was.

I shouted back, “This is where I belong!” Strong and sure. Nervous, I laughed. Curse nightmares, curse nightmares, curse nightmares, curse…

“Is it, really?” Shivering. “Wake up now.”

“No.” Wails.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.”

“No.” No, no, no. No.

“Awake.”

“No!” Please.

“AWAKE!”

“NO!”

Darkness.

Being a dreamer wasn’t always easy. The dawn of physical consciousness to the reality of “life” was like the breaking of glass at a bank. Unwanted screaming and adrenaline, shock, fear. I missed the beginning of dozing off and the unrealistic pictures of fantasy. It was gone too soon and too fast. Not being connected to home was being dead.

“Wake up.” The nightlight was on, and mother tried to pull me out of bed.

The Dreamer and The Angel

wake up, wake up, wake up


I rub the sparkly dust off of my eyes, stretching myself across the mattress. I could feel the vibration of the bed, and I feel funny.

I open my eyes to the unreal scene before me. This doesn’t look like my room; the walls are painted white, but colored with flashing strobe lights that look like unnatural lightning. I see vines climbing up the tall walls, crawling to cover the ceiling. And now I see monkeys outside from my spot on the bed, through the huge window at one side of the room.

I still feel funny. Everything feels funny. I can even taste something funny. I cough, and out goes blue glitter from my system.

Up above my head, the vines separate, and they give me access to watch the running sky. Blue, indigo, red, purple, black. A star falls on my upper lip. I lick it off. I could taste something like the combination of sweet, sweet caramel and ink-spoiled blood.

I am sitting already when the hospital blanket wraps around me like a fierce snake, hinting to suffocate with a short twist. I’m afraid. Panicking, I struggle with fear as the blanket won’t drop dead, and instead curl around my alarmed body like it was my cocoon. The strobe lights stop flashing. They suddenly bring in the amber glow. I'm dying, so I lie back on my bed… and close my eyes.

Next thing I know when my eyelids get unscrewed is that I’m not at the same place. Fireflies dress me from head to toe in my pajama wear. I scream, but it’s too late. They dissolve into my skin. My scalp, my fingernails, my joints. I collapse to the ground on my knees, gripping the damp grass underneath me. It starts raining, and I shriek as the ice cold drops kiss the back of my neck and trail to my lips, freezing there like they want me to stop emitting noise. I press my palms onto the grass and tear it away from the wet soil. I dig my nails into the ground. I glow.

The glow is a yellow green. And it enters the earth. I think I’m going back to normal, but no. I just keep glowing brighter and brighter along with the world in my eyes. Everything, except for the sky, is now drenched in the color of starlight. It almost looks permanent.

I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired. But I’m also being driven by a power that won’t leave me no matter what I want. I cry tears of the evening stars. It’s still pouring.

I don’t know anything else. But I do know that I get sucked into the ground.

God help me. I’m falling, I’m falling, I’m faaAAAAAAAAaaalling. Butterflies try to catch me, but I’m too heavy for their stitched-up wings to carry. The sound of violins and thunderstorms flow into my ears. I let out another high-pitch shriek, feeling my stomach fold into the smallest origami to be ever made. It’s useless flailing my arms towards every direction when there’s nothing to stop gravity as it works.

But then, of course, I stop falling. The unexpected always happens.

Someone is drying my closed eyelids with their smooth hands, carrying me with the softest feathers ever. I whimper when I feel hard cement under me. Safety, does that mean?

I open my eyes. I’m introduced to the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. So shy. So violet. So bright. So wondrous. Those eyes tell the story of life. And maybe, if I could stare into it more, I could see the future in them. I want to see the future in them. I want to see my future in them.

I’m being too hopeful again. I’m wanting too much again. Because the angel steps back and shoots up to the sky. A few of its milky white feathers leave in its wake. Dreamy. It hurts. It hurts perniciously.

When I wake up, everything is normal. Too normal.

And I wish I was dreaming again instead.