Psychotic Event
October 05, 2015 - 102 words
The white paper on the broken table was a tough diamond that refused to break. Refused to cooperate. It should have been art by now, a fragile pyramid. Instead it sat there: just a piece of savagery, a great bloody grenade ready to fail. The clouded light above was a prism of impurities, the color of dirty pebbles, cold and ancient.
The light was wide and rounded, inexorably drawing itself along the horizon, dragging its tortured trail across the earth, hundreds of millions of years old. Sometimes its texture was soapy and smooth. Other times, jagged and grating. There was no rest.