Color Story

The black, obsidian sky blanketed the world in a cool darkness. The shadows of the trees seemed to burn with a colorless intensity that both blended them and made them leer out when expected least. As he tried to make his way over to his makeshift shelter the forest’s many rocks and brambles stealthily cut and tore at his feet.  After what seemed like hours of searching he still had not found it. He was blind to everything in this world except for what the shadows wished him to see. He gave up his hunt and settled at the base of what felt like a large tree, closed his eyes and enclosed himself in the darkness of his own make and choosing.
The sun rose in the morning to reveal a dark red sky. He awoke to it and turned his eyes away from its fiery brightness. He caught sight of his foot. Blood still oozed from the cuts made the night before. It had stained the grass around him to look as if he slept in the heart of a giant ruby. As he hobbled toward the stream the clouds climbed through the sky in waves of angry color and shape. He grimly smiled as he stuck is feet in the rushing ice water. The world seemed to match his mood; it was the color of frustration, of anger, of pain. Along the stream grew bushes filled with a sort of rosy berry. He bit into one and grimaced as the remedial bitterness filled his mouth. Lifting his feet out of the water he crushed a handful and watched the juice come dripping down like some sort of hellish rain casting the sting of sins upon his mangled flesh.
As the night reached its peak and the dull, yellow moon rose above the world, he found it. Buildings scratching the surface of the smog filled sky, artificial light filling the streets that made people look sickly in the incandescent shine. The smog above seemed a poisonous protective layer to keep the real light and air from entering. He stood above all this looking down on the place he once called his home; his feet protesting underneath him. Pale, liquid ooze seeped from the scabs that cover them. He stood for a while looking down: the pale moonlight washing over his troubled mind. Finally he turned his back on the city of wasted light and slowly made his way back to the shadows of the trees.