Image by Bru-nO from Pixabay.

Ink

The green ink smelt like blue berries, harvested under a golden sun that shone though reddening canopies.

The red ink tasted like greengages, grown until the rose hips turned red, and the first yellow leaves began to fall.

The yellow ink sounded like green aspen leaves susurrating under a red and blue evening sky.

But the blue ink … The blue ink felt like red blood running onto yellowed pages, while your green eyes kept haunting my memory.

This microfiction was inspired by the writing prompt #FromOneLine 345 — „The green ink smelt like blue berries“.