he sun looms large, glaring down at the white city beneath it. The buildings of the city, old as they are, have lost their colour. The paint that clothed the once vibrant plaster buildings, has long since peeled and flaked off, faded over time. In some roofed areas, evidence of their once glorious past remains. It must have been so- books from the time before, rambled on about a great city, vibrant with colour and something organic called trees. The only colour that the inhabitants of this bleached city know is the white of their surroundings, the blue of their sky and the empty blackness of night. Unbeknownst to these inhabitants, buried deep in the vast emptiness lay billions of shiny jewels that would twinkle in all their glory. If only they would turn off their white lights.
An imaginative piece using an unusual narrator.