They hadn't gone away. They probably wouldn't.
He studied people's faces as they walked passed him, not a hint of awe. Everything seemed normal to them, the same blue sky and grey sidewalk.
But it wasn't for him. He saw them with their dark luminosity and the ethereal mist that hovered over them.
"Nope," he shook his head, no one else can see them.
A slight shift in one of them caught his attention. The mist changed color too. Regretfully it was a mauve that he knew he could never reproduce in his paintings.
He followed the river to a nearby park where he found a girl with platinum hair. She was staring at the sky.
Maybe she can see them, he thought.
He sat on a bench and watched her gaze at the sky. After an hour he built up enough courage to walk over to her.
"What are you looking at?"
He was about to repeat the question when her sapphire eyes locked on to his.
"The flames in the sky," she said. "No one seems to see them."
"How can you tell?" He cursed himself for not being able to come up with something better.
"If they could, they wouldn't be able to look away."
He nodded.
"Wait? Can you see them?"
"No, but I can see the flowing rivers above," he replied.
"I see," her eyes sparkled.
The mist was fuschia now and the water sped up.
He smiled.
"Your flame just flickered," she smiled back.
YOU ARE READING
My Journal of Weekend Write-Ins
Short StoryA mind filled with tales, stories, fantasies, and lies coming out on weekends to play around.
