Yellow

see also: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3



The Morning After, pt. 4:



Looking in that direction, trying hard to focus, he still could see nothing but the battered and faded bush, cocked oddly to one side of the improbably large planter, with its peeling red paint - when was the last time anyone painted up here, any--

The bush giggled. Well, not a laugh, precisely. More a purr of satisfaction. A pleasing memory bubbling up into audible form. "What are you doing way over there? Come over here and warm me up."

And with that, the cone-shaped imitation hedge extended a long, bare, pale, naked, definitely un-plastic arm. With banana-yellow fingernails.

His first thought in that moment - indeed, his only thought - was a somewhat more profanity-laced variation of: "What the hell have I done?"




To be continued....