Crayola’s yellow box made his eyes go wide.
Realizing all one hundred twenty colors inside were his to work with.
And that thought had him wondering what he should color first.
Yukon forests? Dragons breathing fire on a horde of gold? Something from the Matrix?
Of course, he could let his imagination run wild and do something totally out of the box.
Next moment he was using a heat gun to make a three-dimensional sunset!
My goodness, I am drowning
Under my own body’s immune system response
Can’t breathe, my throat is on fire, my voice is silenced
Useless coughing causes my core to ache
Sneezing to loosen up the solid wall of …
Breathing in sync with the bass drum
Every nerve on fire with the energy of the guitar solo
As her feet began to move to the groove
That was a problem when she saw the flashing lights in her rearview mirror
Suns spun in their gravitational dance around the galaxy
Planets pulled around and around each of those hot balls of nuclear fire
How amazing it was that the cosmic dance continued since time eternal
Every clear night she looked up at the dancers above
Reveling in the opportunity to study the performance
Embracing the challenge of cyphering out the music
She loved astrophysics
White Zinfandel sparkled in the glow of the fire
Its hints of sour apple and honey played with
Notes of pine and citrus. The calming taste helped with her stress level
Especially needed since she was watching her house burn
Now, now is the time to strike back
Igniting the passions of the oppressed
Giving the darkness a soul of fire and destruction
Hell’s gates have broken, and we are not going back
To our oppressors, flee. We will do more than just go bump in the …
Leaving it all behind was going to be hard
Everyone knew her name, her story
Giving up everything to save their nation and their world
Eventually losing her left eye and arm in the dragon’s fire
Now she quietly sits in the town square every day and enjoys what sun there is
Determined to let her legacy pass into myth and…
Raise the top part of the dwelling
Or the outer ceiling, the outer ceiling, the outer ceiling is on fire
Or that thing about a more folksy violinist on the shingles
For one last one, You’re what? Tin Parapet! Rusted!
Zero chance that anything will work now
If the flames hadn’t destroyed it, then the water that doused the fire had
Putting them back to having nothing
Fire climbing high into the sky
Lighting her eyes in a way that was magical
And the image made his heart skip a beat
Maybe that’s why it didn’t hurt as much
Even as the knife plunged deep into his chest
The Art of Prose and Poetry
self-publishing
Tagline
Sarah Torribio and her right brain. Music. Musings. Writing. Style.
We Survived and Arrived - Now as Warriors We Thrive
With previous posting of "Our World" on Blogger
Sharing is Learning
AUTHOR
Random Stuff I Think You'll Like
Things I love, typically with people I love. Will likely be hiking, baking, and doing other things that make me happy.
Story world
SkEtChEs of my everyday life through tiny words, artworks, quotes, clips, and snapshots--- capturing a moment in time.
Never Short On Words 