The Colour of All Eyes
A Scene — Inspired by Connor Rancan
A captured parcel of water spits weakly at the blue sky above it, as if hastening the process of precipitation so it could become a cloud, then rain, then a chance of ending up back with the mother ship, in some large lake or, preferably, some ocean.
It can’t quite remember the last time it wasn’t flushed with chlorine and transported endlessly through a jungle of pipes to be bullied skyward by air bubbles. Those superior, bastard molecules that weren’t bound by gravity.
The only respite is winter. When its skin freezes solid overnight, before the maintenance man comes and breaks it up. But for a while there, the water is still, the pipes paused, and it can take refuge from its duty of display.
Unbeknownst to it was the pleasure it gave when on display — that sometimes the way it combined with air and the sun’s rays wrought the full spectrum of colour for passers-by to take pause and revel in.
