The Grey

By M.D. Smith, IV

I languish in this lonely, unfriendly place. Neither daylight nor dark, but a mindless grey envelops me. I hear the chilling wind build and wane, whistling through the dead branches of a lone tree sitting on a nameless hill. Its skeleton bears witness to the nothingness of this moment.

A Dali clock face draping over a weathered limb would make the scene complete. Time drags. Faceless forms dance in front of me like ghosts swirling about each other.

Then, grey vanishes. The world is bright and sunny. A handsome boy stands in front of me, asking, “Do you want to dance?”