Featured Fiction: And I'm Yellow
The color should make me happy, the sun’s warm, bright rays rising
as I rise for breakfast, peeking through the window, splattering
through the grate onto my face.
Forcing open eyes but also forced to squint, running on eyeballs
meandering through a forested mush of brain and blood,
reaching out to tap, with one, tiny, brainless finger, that place,
the center of my brain myself the world,
when the light will turn on, the yellow, incandescent bulb that burns inside.
But the light grows dim, the yellow grows meek, the
kid grows up.
The fire remains, clicking and crackling and cackling
greedily in my face. Yellow and red and orange
and blue and white and mixing and twisting and
jumping and heating and eating. It burns inside
it sits below a cast iron cauldron of dreams
they bubble up and fly away
they’re overcooked they’re too well done.
The wood is gone the coals a memory
long forgotten the lifeless embers floating, drifting, lost
and now the fire consumes me.