.jpg)
Purple rain, as dense as blood, washes over me, stains me. I am getting soaked, but instead of searching refuge, I remain where I am, staring down at myself. The drops fall on my white cotton shift, blossom like terrible dark flowers. Soon, the flowers overlap each other, and the white becomes almost black in the semi-darkness of the sky. My nails look surprisingly light, compared to the shade my skin has now acquired, but they too, have changed. They are fuchsia. I smile a small smile, because I think that's a bit funny.
The rain is plastering my hair against my face, so I push it back, my fingers deftly waving it into a braid that reaches my hips. There. That's better. I can't really see much, but I do know that I am in the middle of a field, the woods flanking my left, a small brook singing on my right. There are mountains beyond the brook. But I can't see them now. This makes me feel small and alone, so I sit down. The earth and grass squelch as I do, and mud splashes onto me, but I don't care. The rain washes me clean soon.
It feels weird, the rain. As it's viscosity slides down my skin, it is warm, slightly sticky. So I lick my arm, wanting to taste it.
It's familiar metallic taste makes me gag, makes me regurgitate what had come in, makes me pant in shock, makes my eyes open wide in fright.
I scream, the mountains echoing my voice.
Purple rain, as dense as blood, washes over me, stains me. I am getting soaked, but instead of searching refuge, I remain where I am, staring down at myself. The drops fall on my white cotton shift, blossom like terrible dark flowers. Soon, the flowers overlap each other, and the white becomes almost black in the semi-darkness of the sky. My nails look surprisingly light, compared to the shade my skin has now acquired, but they too, have changed. They are fuchsia. I smile a small smile, because I think that's a bit funny.
The rain is plastering my hair against my face, so I push it back, my fingers deftly waving it into a braid that reaches my hips. There. That's better. I can't really see much, but I do know that I am in the middle of a field, the woods flanking my left, a small brook singing on my right. There are mountains beyond the brook. But I can't see them now. This makes me feel small and alone, so I sit down. The earth and grass squelch as I do, and mud splashes onto me, but I don't care. The rain washes me clean soon.
It feels weird, the rain. As it's viscosity slides down my skin, it is warm, slightly sticky. So I lick my arm, wanting to taste it.
It's familiar metallic taste makes me gag, makes me regurgitate what had come in, makes me pant in shock, makes my eyes open wide in fright.
I scream, the mountains echoing my voice.
No comments:
Post a Comment