Kelloubelle

The Little Black Book

A pair of pale colorless fingertips grazed the coarse gravel hanging down towards the ground as if they were reaching for it. Swaying like boneless twigs in the wind back and forth as gravity pulled on their weight mimicking dull but lively movement, the persons head hung similarly. The quiet strokes the persons hair made as they also tickled the ground soon became sludges as each strand absorbed like a sponge the flaring color of many alarming warning signs. The color of a siren racing to put out a fire, the color of a fatal accident on the road, the color of once clear bags filled up through needles and tubes in hospitals.