Cure

Wishing a blessed Pride to them and their children

“Where I’m from - Kansas, my home… this here, this is our state flower.”

He misses the colour sometimes. He wasn’t home the day the colours left. He was floating through the city aimlessly, watching. Nothing out of the ordinary. The people walked and chatted, the children laughed and screamed, the dogs sniffing, exploring. He didn’t think much of it. In fact, he didn’t think much about anything until the sun set and he returned home to make dinner. But as the day becomes night the colors seem to bleed out . Onto every surface, every sound getting swallowed and he can’t help but stare in wonder. The bleeding won’t stop, staining him, drenching. Until there’s nothing left and he shakes it off, goes to bed. The darkness will lull him to sleep and paint his room grey. And then the morning comes and he forgets. Goes about his day, same as everyday and he doesn’t notice the colours that aren’t there. He sees the scars and a few drops left where the colours disappeared and ponders. Oh, beautiful world, he thinks, what has become of you. And he wheeps, for the colours, the world and for himself.