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The colors of fire

By robertservis, brownsmills, NJ

Panic. Yellow splotched summer sky, mid afternoon, Sun scorched and burning contently. Zoom in, a large shadow streaked across the docile grass, wet from early rain, cold, inviting, resting. A figure jaunts across the shadow, his frame splotched red green yellow and blue. His eyes, tired, hating, throbbing. His shirts been torn, wrenched around his neck, the collar like a frayed guitar string, limp, wiry, twisted. Pale legs strut till his bones are seen writhing out from underneath their sheets of white skin wanting nothing more than to leave the pitiful creature thats been working them so terribly. Thunder, each blade of grass silently taking each thud of his heels, such a soothing sound, of this mercilessly silent and violent scene. Laughter, silhouetted against his back, hung neatly round his neck like a picture frame, hauntingly still despite how hard his body tries to shake it off with its crooked motions.

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