Here sits our world, a sphere of tiny islands composed of tiny people and tiny problems.
And above those islands are chandeliers of glass frames;
Moments, of memories, of everything that's ever lived or existed.
And at the very top sit the clouds, now crystal clear yet died with orange of dead people and dead mistakes.
And there sits two girls.
Peculiarly dressed and existing on this orange, counting the frames of the many chandeliers below them.
“We haven't much time until they break again..! The frames!” one recalled suddenly, peering down at the chandeliers in a flurry.
The other one picked away at a frame, letting it feather away in her hand, very much like a loose ball of clumped sugar. “I know.”
“The people down there! The people we know! They will fade too!”
“But only of their own accord.” They replied.
“We must save them!"
“From themselves?”
“Of course! In relation to them, it's our responsibility!”
“When did that happen?”
“When we were born, and then when we became orange! Don't you see??”
“May I correct you, you're more of a red.”
“This is important! It's our fault if they-”
A finger was pressed to her lip.
“Shh.” The other one rolled away a bit and whispered. “They will become orange.”
“They will become orange whether or not we try to stop them or not. Dying to change is not as easy as it seems. Only the Chandelier and themselves can make the real changes.”
“No. No, I will take their orange and pour it into mine. For them, I will risk it all.”
“You'll never leave this place or fix the frames like that.”
“For them, all that is mine."
The other sighed. “Will you ever change?”
“Not from orange.”
“Red.”
YOU ARE READING
Accounts of (a) Probably-Not-So-Normal Teenager(s)
RandomThere's a lot to life. I'm just here to share my thoughts. --- Message me if you want an entry of yours put up here; it can be anything from a crappy poem you came up with, or just something interesting you thought of a while ago.
