{A/N: A short story about xanthophobia. It's supposed to be vague, but if you have any questions, feel free to comment below}
The sky was yellow, a dull gold mixed with a hint of gray or perhaps purple.
I hated the color; it looked like a piece of old film.
The light reflected on the walls and everything was awash with the ugly yellow color.
I ran from the window to my bed and covered my head with the bed sheets and shut my eyes tight, trying to ignore it. Make it stop, I pleaded. Make it go away...
Perhaps if I had kept watching outside, I might not have died.
Perhaps if I had faced my fears, none of this might have happened.
Why did I hate the color yellow?
I really didn't know.
It wasn't like I had a choice.
Seeing the color was painful, like needles stabbing into your eyes.
You probably wouldn't understand.
It doesn't matter anymore.
I should have told my parents.
But I didn't.
The sky looked like someone draped an old blanket across the usual blue.
They could have survived.
But they didn't.
The bombs dropped like snowflakes.
The ashes littered the streets, countless rain droplets of death.
It wasn't my fault, I swear.
No, really.
IT REALLY WASN'T MY FAULT
YOU ARE READING
Randomness
Short StoryRandom short stories put together....Some may have no relation to the next.....and for others, I might turn them into legit stories......so... :D
