There’s a point, where purple turns to black on the spectrum of perception. Where the two colours are indistinguishable from one another. It’s that, that’s what I remember. Apparently I was there when James was taken by the storm, but I don’t remember that. I remember there was a hand trying to pull me back, who’s hand?
As I stared at the chaos , sure that I was going to die. The hand… that was James’ hand. Oh my God, did he push me out of the way? Did he save my life? Am I the reason that he couldn’t get far enough away from the shed?
This short story is a part of my ‘Project 642’ series. Where I try and work my way through the entire ‘642 Things to Write About’ book.
This was written on the 19th January 2017.
This is story 17 out of 624. The prompt is below.
- A storm destroys your uncle’s shed and kills his six-year-old son. Describe the colour of the sky right before the storm hit.