The grass was green on the other side, outside of the bubble there was green grass and red roses and brightly coloured things. Inside the bubble, there was grey, colourless nothing. Bland, like unbuttered toast, unbuttered toast and water. Inside the bubble there was no light, no dark, no taste smell or sight. Inside was where they went if there was problems. No one wanted to deal with them so they were placed in the grey bubble. Ostracised and alone. The colour drained, the life left, and the only thing left was a sound. The blinking beep that repeated just to let the outside know that that problem was still there. The beeping blink that continued, that nagged, that dragged its nails down the side of the bubble and stretched and blistered the surface. The problems were an infection, the bubble however, never grew. It stayed the same, frozen. Frosting in time to relieve its own pain and ignite pain in others. A tumor.
The cure, its inevitable.
February 4, 2011 - Jess:]
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