it all started with a blink; it probably isn't what most would think it was and honestly at the very start this... thing; wasn't all too special but then again most newborn things never usually are and never eventually do.

it's a start up from the very bottom of the metaphorical barrel but the again arnt most 'attempts' labeled as such.

so as we said prior to the dawning notice it started with a blink; it was a dapple of bring paint on an off site stained whiteboard and then... then it got interesting because it changed. it grew development over time and those starting few blotches; specks unnoticed by the rest of the universe became an ocean of rippling colors and mercurial stars twinkling in soft yet abruptly churned deep tones.

from a pretty painting just finished hanged up ontop a wall and then shortly forgotten there after eventually one day that painting is pulled down and... thrown away. it's thrown away in the trash with every other stinking sharp disposable slowly rotting between black stretched plastic and cardboard boxes amoung the bags.

it's thrown away and then suddenly it finds itself in a dump to be set amoung a heap for a landfill because no one cares about those expensive long lasting colors anymore... it was old. a universe in itself old and already dying; set to decompose still alive within itself buried. the sun goes down and life goes up; the sky and surrounding shatter like glass from stained windowpanes and smooth mirrors and the universe and everything in it just stops.

sometimes trash destroyed in nature even decomposing and lonely in its wretchedness is still beautiful and when the creation died the world went with it and inside of it all the impressed hopes and dreams and sweet nostalgic whims flew away burning in almost festival ashes crooned because that was really the last frogs croak.

-and the world restarted.

it started all with a blink; if you missed it it was gone and you'd never have that moment again because it was already gone no matter how many times God's press replay again.

Sera used to paint pretty things; she used to shower her creations with all her hopes and bitter temptations, her tears shed mine with the oil and water and dry like the scarlet, charcoal, and salmon pink sands on the reimagined beaches.

it all simply could've been a dream and then one day; one day it was not.

one day Sera standing infront of her pretty pretty paintings with her most hopeful creation hooked on the wall behind her suddenly fell dead and it was a bloody death to be upfront.

Sera got stabbed; she got stabbed by her best friend for reasons she couldn't fathom; but who could blame poor Sera. she could only scream once through the horror before she was already sliding down the wall and choking on it. her pastel work place dappled with glow in the dark sticky stars and easles and paint became her crime scene; her death bed so to say and unlucky as it was she was picky to have no rugs to ruin so the floor wasn't plush. it wasn't a soft embrace accepting death but instead bitter wet ruby chokes with the taste of sour limes and chocolate. when Seras eyes finally fell permanently shut the world went on anyway withought her but inside herself when her soul if it was even that seems to float out like an invisible cloud to well a path down nowhere in the afternoon sun with cold artificial lights to guide the way... finally eventually; Sera woke up.

she woke up in the painting of dusky cherry stars and a dozen and a half mottled colors; a small world wet with paint made under her own hands. too bad poor little Sera was to traumatized to appreciate such a beautiful mess; too good shaking and clutching her slit neck choking on saliva and the hiccups just wouldn't stop clicking.

in this little world it was beautiful but for any dead girl it was just present; a place, a thing, a Noun forbid. it was what it was and years that seem to go by with a sheer nothingness when out girl finally dies again drawing in her own creation of beautiful wet paint. a self meld of a black hole that it was out girl... Sera awakes again.

Sera awakes and this time she isn't histarically choking or even giggling in the rapture but stone still and silent twitching at the sound of her own ringing heart beat.

it's a beautiful thing to be yourself even though you don't remember half of that as it is, as it was.

Sera drowns in a self burial amoung the white endless sands; the world is an eternal night around her and the howls of would be soulless demons screaach into the unknown in the vacant vicinity and yet... she surrenders.

she surrenders because she should be dead and this is all a hallucination no matter how much it hurts, and no matter how many times she dies.

she wakes again and then... then she meets them.

she's silent when they meet but she's always silent so it doesn't make much of a difference, after all she's never talkative anymore. the sands bleed red and then green and then a pastel rainbow only stained with her own scarlet fluids, denial really isn't a beautiful thing and neither is willful ignorance even in sheer desperation for a reality.

every day Sue prays silently to herself that whatever everything that everything is whether lies or truth won't make her doubt her reality again; but every day every moment she still doubts because she should be dead and nows she's not because for whatever reason now she can't. it's it too late for deaths sweet kiss; of what she's heard about that gentle silent embrace; like a their un the night she yearns.

but like those that yearn; envy, she never receives.