It''s 3:37 am and I''m once again in this room. I am still here due to my family''s pleading for me to stay. They so terribly miss me that they cannot bear to have me leave after one day. They treat me so well that I cannot in good conscious reject this offer of pleasant hospitality. They take care of practically everything I need. They wash my clothes and provide me with my own washroom to take care of myself. That reminds me I need to ask them for a razor. My facial hair has started to get out of hand. Going back to the perks of living here, they cook for me and have expressly said they will take care of the dishes. I offer to take care of a few chores because I don’t like the feeling of taking advantage of good people but they always decline. There''s not much I have to do around here except keep them company. They love chatting with me so much that I''m guessing they view it as an equal exchange. That’s my reasoning but it''s still pretty weird. I guess they''re lonely too. Having no one else to speak to can leave a person with awkward quirks. Now I am lying here surrounded by a suffocating amount of cushions. The feeling makes one want to tear it all apart and let the white feathers fly through the air. The wall is covered in sickly Yellow colored flower designed wallpaper. Not the Yellow of nature and sunlight but the disturbing pale color of pus. The pervasive wretched thing covers all spaces of the four walled room. Even the roof is doomed to be coated in the greatest tragedy of mankind. Ok that was a hyperbole taken too far. Yesterday I had no obvious objection to the wallpaper but that was when I wasn’t expecting to continue staying here. Tomorrow I need to ask them if I can take a different room. Hopefully one without these wastes of feathered pillows. The more I stare at the upsetting color the more I find myself fascinated, in a grim way, with it. I''ve now spent a far too long amount of time observing the foul thing. I feel as if there are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
The heat has begun melting me from the inside. I have been wandering these shifting hills of sand for days now. My back hurts from sleeping on the tough floor of small caves that litter the mountains spread across this wasteland. My mouth contains not a drop of the precious liquid that I once took for granted. My tongue and cheeks feel like a spider web of cracks have left them forever scarred. I look out into the distance and all I see is rolls of deathly Yellow. Too bright for human eyes to look without squinting with a hair thin split to see through. My body is breaking down as it no longer contains the once abundant water. I fall onto the burning sand wishing for my trial to come to an end. I have chosen this for myself and now I lay, strength gone from my mortal flesh. Through the chink between my eyelids I look out toward the horizon wondering what lies yonder. In the distance I spot a wavering change of scenery. Not the Yellow I''ve come to hate nor the empty blue that surrounds me up above. An illusion of green and crystal blue comes into focus. It can only be a mirage for it is an impossibility that I''ve now come across it with a body that can no longer continue to move. The life it represents is not there and the hope rising within me makes no difference to this more than half dead vessel of mine. I deserve to disappear in both body and mind. My sins are too great to list. Too great an irony is this as I am described by this dye named Yellow. Now I waste away in this land absent of life enveloped by golden grains.