The flashes of light came down from the sky in a rhythm drowned in humidity and haze. Sun broke through for a moment to dry the tears on our faces and then was swallowed again by the grey and purple. Everything flashed red as the signs flew by, and the temperature dropped. Green seas of heat and moisture, pianos, harps, and oh, red wine like the color of blood and raspberries. Sweet, sour, bitter, sad.
In the morning the haze had gone but the stomach was knots and butterflies. In the end there was no rest and everything changed. Profound, like the carving of a new canyon into the crust of the world. The haze came again and left. And then a darkness filled with white cold.
Will the red flashes return? Time skipped a step, folded in on itself. This should not be. The world has spun in retrograde, but not. The flashes came again, and the humidity and the haze. Red flashes did not return as the armour cracked. I wait for the storm to come once again, drifting through the green seas without aim.
