Awakening to glistening golden hues and sparkling silver linings, my eyes flutter like butterflies, opening with the warm light bursting through the hazy monotony.
And the purple clouds lift from my eyes, revealing the striking rainbow hidden. My vision has been foggy for so long, lost in mono-chromatic shades of purple. I thought it was nice; purple can be pretty, comforting, exciting in all of it’s variations.
Brilliant sun overcomes the clouds, exposing an array of sharp, beautiful colors in the natural light. Many of them. A whole spectrum in vivid fullness. A whole new world of possible choices uncovered.
I saw that even in all it’s multitudes, purple is only a fraction of the display.
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About the Creator
KJ Aartila
A writer of words in northern WI with a small family and a large menagerie.
My Substack
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More stories from KJ Aartila and writers in Poets and other communities.
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis7 days ago in Humans
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