Gold
This is a world in which white inhabits everybody's life; controls all thought and deed. The only way to access colour is at night, when dreams overtake conscious thought and the subconscious comes to life with memories.
Because bleach can't control the subconscious mind; the memory, the brain...
The flowery field of gold lies out before me, an endless array of buttercups stretched until the end of the world. Their pollen is carried away in the breeze by invisible hands, lifting them into the sapphire sky.
The flowers are lemon in colour; not the yellow that would make one cringe, but the yellow that makes you feel warm inside, like you've just swallowed a nice cup of tea on a winter's day. Their sunlight mingles in with that of the star in the sky, creating a glowing atmosphere that makes one feel drowsy yet content.
The cerulean of the sky is a major contrast to the vibrant river of gold in front of me, and yet I feel no need to cross; for once I am in no rush, nowhere I feel the need to be. When was the last time I had such an interval to just think?
Why, it was the kind of feeling you received on a Friday afternoon, knowing you had the whole weekend in front of you, as though you could make those two days last forever if you wished hard enough.
Time didn't seem to matter; in fact, as I look at my watch, I realize with wonderment that time had stopped ticking altogether. That was not to say that time had actually frozen; the sun would lower and the moon would rise exactly on schedule; but that it didn't seem to matter as much. No train timetables to get a hold of, no shifts at work to attend.
I sink down into the bright bed of sunshine beneath me and feel the lush tips of petals kiss my skin. The buds smell of whispers and memories; they suggest all things beautiful and joyous while giving you a sense of strength. It is a crisp scent, while being decidedly feminine.
And yet, while looking straight ahead, I see a silhouette out the corner of my eye. The fading daylight creates a halo around them, so none of their features are visible.
And yet, despite all odds, I know exactly who it is. It is the thought of the deep, sad summer nights that I never want to escape.
And that's when I awake.
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Unattainable
Short StoryA collection of short stories set in a dystopic future; some based on dialogue, others romance, and still others description.