I lay in the rain with a purple sky, twelve suns swirl slowly without ever setting. My breath is heavy and the air is thick. The droplets of rain are like acrylic paint, forming little dotted mountains of color across my bare chest and legs. There is a kind of silence that feels like heavy stones piled a top my head. I cannot move.
The rain increases. Putting the world around me into a slick of fantastic colors of red and green, purple and blue, and gold and silver silver streaks. I am becoming part of a painting, not of my own making. I try to stand but my limbs feel like tree roots being forcibly torn from the ground. I am starting to feel the sensation of drowning. Drowning in a pool of paint.
I slough off paint from my face, my chest, my arms, my legs. As I slip the paint from my body I notice my skin has become translucent. I can see the fat tissue and beneath that, the sinew of muscle. Alarmed, I finally force myself to sit up.
I gaze at my navel. I can see my innards and pushing into my skin, my hand breaks through the surface. The blood is wet and warm, organs like plush pillows. I pull out tubes of my intestine, unraveling ribbons of it upon the painted ground and grass. My blood becomes paint and my organs simply sopping sponges that cascade out of my body.
I can see my bones, my forearms, my femur, knee cap, the lower part of my ribs, and soon they too become like paint, mushy liquid that collapses on itself. I can no longer hold myself up and so fall sideways upon the ground.
I feel the need to panic. To scream, but something prevents me. Knowing that I am simply becoming part of a canvas of color is comforting for some reason. I let it take me. Soon, nothing of my body is left and I become disentangle with the mound of warm acrylic paint that was my body.
And still my thoughts remain.
The rain increases. Putting the world around me into a slick of fantastic colors of red and green, purple and blue, and gold and silver silver streaks. I am becoming part of a painting, not of my own making. I try to stand but my limbs feel like tree roots being forcibly torn from the ground. I am starting to feel the sensation of drowning. Drowning in a pool of paint.
I slough off paint from my face, my chest, my arms, my legs. As I slip the paint from my body I notice my skin has become translucent. I can see the fat tissue and beneath that, the sinew of muscle. Alarmed, I finally force myself to sit up.
I gaze at my navel. I can see my innards and pushing into my skin, my hand breaks through the surface. The blood is wet and warm, organs like plush pillows. I pull out tubes of my intestine, unraveling ribbons of it upon the painted ground and grass. My blood becomes paint and my organs simply sopping sponges that cascade out of my body.
I can see my bones, my forearms, my femur, knee cap, the lower part of my ribs, and soon they too become like paint, mushy liquid that collapses on itself. I can no longer hold myself up and so fall sideways upon the ground.
I feel the need to panic. To scream, but something prevents me. Knowing that I am simply becoming part of a canvas of color is comforting for some reason. I let it take me. Soon, nothing of my body is left and I become disentangle with the mound of warm acrylic paint that was my body.
And still my thoughts remain.
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