The feast was warm and yellow.
There were people like us there. We were all turned to face one another in recognition of our similarity.
You and I were sitting across from one another, holding hands. It felt sneaky that our hands were touching under the table.
We beamed with delight because we had a secret they didn’t know about. It was a case of wanting to stay but also wanting to leave not to make things uncomfortable for others.
The dining hall was open to the beach. At the beach there was dark sand and black water lapping at its edge. The monstrosity of the monotonous monochrome was all engulfing, and it ate away at our ability to see beyond the shore. You motioned towards the beach.
I followed you out.
We were in such a hurry that we left our shoes inside: our feet first tread the wet wood of the dining hall and then came to caress the stark sand.
We went out into that darkness, swallowed up by it because we weren’t alone. Standing there at the junction of the sand and the sea, the moon shone bright upon us.
The next morning, warm and yellow had been replaced by cold and blue. The mountains in the far distance murmured in disapproval.
The floor felt cold under my bare feet as the slippers designated for morning had been left by the shore.
At breakfast there were all the same people as at the feast, but their demeanor had changed. There was a blatant edge of disapproval that jutted at the edges of their niceties.
You pretended not to know me. I held my head high because I am brave.
WAST WRTNG 