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.