Purple.
A sea of purple. A sky of purple. A twilight world. It was written
that sunsets were once golden. That must have been a long time ago.
Somewhere
beyond the thick, bilious clouds – it was said – there were tiny
pinpricks of light called stars, like their own sun, but much, much
further away. And you could distinctly see them, unlike the sun,
which was hazy at the best of times.
The
water churning against the shore left a froth and a slime against the
rocks, but the rhythm still soothed, and the caw of the seabirds
echoed timelessly, down, down through the ages… maybe as far as the
stars.
