Yellow emotions skid across the floor of the only grocery store. Longevity unfurls in the cinnamon rolls. The man in the candy aisle is addicted to Hot Tamales—a fierce cinnamon-flavored chewy candy. Then there’s that yellowcake uranium house with the darkened, sunset kitchen that stands in the shadows. Aluminum windows, puffer-fish brick. The yard a mallow, deep green. Hidden. Safe. A place to stand and just think without interruption. He passes it on the long road—the drive from the dull, dull city mesmerizes once the country jungle is all around. A calliope garden of peace piping soul-swelling memories. Sometimes that ache of past life wells up. Memories derail the present, cloud the future. Windshield slide shows flash images of the pain that used to thrive. Nonchalant gravity disco pop-ups groove by the acid flower shop. Rings of power in his yellow eyes at the lake shore. Vast distances numb the guts, cold water, waves, a sentient red lighthouse watches with a golden eye, disciplines with a horn. A guy named Carlton falls in the water.

And then that slant of sun again casting bright blocks and lines through the orange psychedelic curtains. His place in all of life swells in the soul. The red walls play gravity screen. He lies in a bed and looks up at the dusty white ceiling. Beauty breathes beside him. Whatever shall he do in the darkening days? What future glow to focus the mind. That ruptured mind. The effort it takes to climb from the time machine. The lost cities in the far distance, primitive again. Green and yellow without choking. A hospitable world with promise presents itself again.

By

Aaron Echoes August

My new book is now available for purchase: The Apocalypse Pipe. Available in both e-book and print editions! Thanks for reading and supporting independent writers.