Ruin - 16

The fantastical realms opened wide before him and he stepped down from the doorway, feeling the thick, cool grass tickle his feet. The fat blades overlapped and slipped between his toes, bent under his sole, curled over his foot. The cool blue skies over head melded into the horizon, thick swirls of the deepest blue dripped onto the green contrast that was somehow the perfect fit. And light wisps of the brightest white decorated the sky with little trails and streaks of shapes. Trees sprouted from the ground freely and their brown trunks were marked masses of various browns.

The whole scene was filled with disgusting masses of bright and dark and colors that should not have ever mixed and yet it fit so perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle. Every plant, every cloud, every hill, every blade of grass and every delicate swish of blue sky had its place. And he did not fit. Everything from his dark purple sweater checked with white and black to his bright blue frayed jeans did not fit. His colors marred the world and so it vowed to mar him.

He moved another step and a blade of grass slit his foot and so was the scarlet of pain released into this kingdom of purity. The steamy wash of fluid splashed over the grass and it ruined the perfection. He stumbled forth and every tiny edge of every tiny blade cut him. And still he would not leave. Every moment he spent, sending out waves of his unhappiness, his anger, his frustration ruined the world.

He rested against a sturdy tree, meant to provide and got entangled within its furious limbs. They flailed against him and the bark dug beneath his flesh and the blood burst from his veins. It poured and it steamed, painting the world its flamboyant color. As the tree tired from its efforts and he refused to leave even though the drops of his blood had left a red-brown blaze and his emotions were roaring from hatred and fury. The sky gathered itself until a blackish blue stain was left and at its center was a buzzing splash of deep gray.

A flash of gold soared down from the iris of the blind eye and it struck him even as the light blue patter spread his impurities far and wide. His flesh was ripped from his bones and they were turned black. And he left, forced by the boot of retribution, while behind him was left the brown of his dried blood and the white of his bleached bones.

Exteriors - 15

The starlit sky glistened with an eerie luminescence that shone down upon us. Long, thin spirals of light illuminated the world, creating shadows behind every plant, rock, and animal. As the light gleamed on the tips of the trees, the forests took on the glow of a snowy wood. But behind the branches of wood and sickly sweet sap lay the eyes that watched even in the darkness. The horrors that awaited behind the green exterior were lying in wait. And we watched each other dance on the rink. Our blades slicing smoothly through the tip of the frozen lake, each carving for us our own paths. We laughed together, smiled quietly, chuckled softly. And the moonlight on our skin glowed and we shone with luster. And the clothes that we decked ourselves in bespoke of a cultured people with their manicured nails, smooth, glowing skin, and beautifully done hair that stood out in a thousand different ways that were declared to be the height of artistic quality. And beneath these amazing exteriors that held perfection in every possible facet lay our inner demons. The horrors that waited behind the pure exterior were lying in wait. And behind the sweet perfume and soft skin lay the eyes that watched even in the darkness. And so, in the moonlight, we laughed and we danced. We twirled and we slid, we spun and we flirted with disaster. But beneath, deep down where the importance truly is, where everything is in black and white, stands out the red candle gleam of evil.

Disgustingly Wrong - 14

The matted fur on his back was filled with bristles and thorns. He knew not where he was but if he did, he would have realized that over the dark green hill that covered the setting sun lay the house that he had left. His stomach growled and he began to limp forward; the pad on his front right paw had worn clean off and blood leaked from it slowly and continuously. His nose was jammed with the general smell of decay that hung around him. He began to walk in circles, twisting his body and flattening the grass. Then he curled into a ball and lay down, whimpering. His dark red tongue slipped out of his black muzzle and pathetically swiped across the tip of his nose. His vision blurred and he knew he must close his eyes or the sleep would not come. A fly buzzed out of the bushes and settled on his wounded paw but he was too exhausted to care. His eyelids slid down over the fuzzy patterns and colors and his tail gave a flick upwards, accidentally brushing the scratch on his thigh by mistake, sending a wave of electric pain crawling down his foot and causing a spasm which upset him but got rid of the fly.

He gave a snort through his nostrils and relaxed. The pain melted away and his chest began to rise and fall rhythmically with his breathing. The sun set and the stars popped out overhead, the representatives of our dead, littering the sky with their eerie twinkling luminescence. Then slowly, they began to fade from their places to be replaced by the slowly expanding arms of the sun, catching them all three at a time. As its warmth descended upon our hero, it was obvious that something was disgustingly wrong. Fog, like from a graveyard, had gathered around his body. It filled every nook and crevice and it extended tiny tendrils in between his hairs but there was not a drop of dew. As the sky lightened into its cheery blue, light twirled around his body merrily. The same fly swooped in, exploring, and there was not a sound as it began to feed on the blood pooled around his paws.