When Reality Strikes

Look around you. Notice how much color things contain? Whether they’re blue, green, purple etc., they usually contain some sort of color found on the color wheel.

Now here’s an odd truth: Ever wonder why black isn’t included in the rainbow? Because yellow, blue, pink, red, all of the seven colors represent happiness, and pure joy, similar to a smile. Why do you think people get so excited to see a rainbow in the sky? You see, black isn’t like the other colors. Black represents despair, dejection, melancholy, redemption, and every other word that signifies some sort of darkness.

To continue, everywhere he looked, there was black.

Even things that normally contain some sort of color, were black.

People sat in chairs, placed in rows of five, and every suit, every dress, every shoe was black.

The shadows of trees overlooked the mass of people that sat in these chairs, but even so, the trees were black also. Not a single leave was on their branches, not a single bud. The trees, in which only three, were completely stripped of their life.

The only color he saw other than black, was white. The sky was grey, but flakes of snow were spewing from the clouds, littering the sky before making their final resting place onto the ground.

What am I…in Alice and Wonderland or Something? He thought.

No, can’t be. This isn’t how it’s supposed to look.

Not a sound was spoken as the teenager looked around, trying to recognize his surroundings, and to configure why this scene that he seemed to be put in is the way that it is.

Then the silence was sliced in half, by a cry, followed by sniffles. Several people began wiping their noses on the sleeves of their black jackets, as tears strolled down their faces.

“Why are you all crying?” The boy asked, his voice raspy and uneven.

No response.


Dead silence.

The boy then noticed how some of the people’s gaze were directed to something behind him, an object of some sort. He spun around, only to freeze in his tracks when he saw what exactly he was looking at.

There it was, sitting on top of the snow, with a large, deep hole directly next to it. The coffin was-as everything else-black. Beside it, was a tripod of some sort, with a picture of a teenage boy, smiling as if there was always a tomorrow.

In memory of Kyle Cambridge. Beloved athlete, companion, son.

What the actual fuck. No, no no no no no no…this isn’t right.

Kyle began searching his hands all over his body, trying to see if he was in fact alive, but his hands went right through his torso, and every other place he touched.

It was then where it struck him, “I’m dead.”

Kyle was overseeing his own funeral, as an observer, the unnoticed, and the unheard.

Everywhere Kyle looked, there was black.

Except the only difference is, now he knows why.

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