There are four transparent surfaces surrounding, with a faint flow of soapy iridescence, and a roughness above and below like the ends of a broken and worn crystal.
Outside these walls are many other parallel surfaces, eating away at each other’s transparency until it has the obscuring effect of thick fog, without the softness of the form of fog. Even the soapy colours cannot well be seen beyond the closest, except as a hazy movement travelling along vertical knife-edge paths.
A drop of clear yellow falls from above, and is lost on your shoe. A plucking rains over the rigid planes, and the iridescence flees into nothing, leaving all as colourless as the void, or an old photograph. Another drop falls, and you hear the “plick” as it lands again on your shoe; now a crash shakes the light, which gives again a sense of movement to the unmoving clustered walls; this movement the opposite of hazy.
A crack races through within the walls where you stand, and you shift quickly, as it almost trims you. You suddenly beat with your fists on the wall, but this does nothing. Another drop falls, now on your back, making you jerk, and you could not see if it was yellow.
It must have been, as the all the walls open like so many baobab flowers, or bananas, the peeling surfaces passing through each other. You dodge them, spread your wings, and buzz away.
#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/06/18