Soft, mahogany fingers danced along a vermilion bricked wall, causing little grains of said brick to rub off and whisper their way to the cold pavement. And then I turned around, starting my fingers' little dance down the wall again, but from the other direction. And as I did this I wondered how many shades of red there really was in the brick. I could just imagine swirls of cerise; twists of rubicund; sparks of magneta; and maybe even splats of fuchsia. And then my mind twists savagely away from my wonderland of colors and dance and I remember: I remember running, and running. I remember running so fast, I believed I could fly. And then I remember slipping; falling to earth with such velocity it felt like I was traveling to a new universe. And then all's my mind brought to memory was blackness--so heavy I possibly could have wrapped myself in it as if it were a blanket.
I scoffed lightly at the notion of a blanket made of black nothing, then I saw a small twig on the sidewalk. And so