Technicolor

Greyscale skies are met with black clouds raining upon us. Brown fields hold no creatures. There’s nothing here. It's blank empty a world of cardboard figures in a shoebox a single stiff breeze could tear us away It's so cold. I'm so cold. Leaning against frigid concrete, I close my eyes. Should I remain here? Waiting for the warm kiss of a life gone by? No. I can make my own color now. Swallowing my despair, I grab my own hand and lead myself into a land of my own creation. a land of color. of light. A land within shining lavender walls picture-perfect corridors a life cushioned in the magenta of tulips and the blue of the sky. It’s perfect. And I can rule here forever. Forever doesn’t last.