Colors define.
Colors enrich.
Colors speak.
The skies of Atmos are an endless stream of colors, from dawn to dusk.
Morning, and it's gray, so very gray, and the sun is still asleep. The mist clings to the houses, the skimmers, the ships, like hands, gripping, finding crevices to creep into.
Noon, and it's golden. The sky is like heaven. And it bleeds sunlight. The wind floats, a thin layer of silver, and the sky becomes a mine of precious metals, gold and silver, side by side.
Battles fall into this space of time, battles between people, humans, squabblers who didn't stand still long enough to look at the colors.
Evening, and it's darker, a musty, chocked, blue, and the sun is yawning. The sky is splattered with blood.
And so comes dusk, and the clouds are red, as if they're sponges that soaked up the carnage, and the sun is orange, no longer golden, and the day ends with a BANG.
Night. Night is black.
Night is regret.
Night is when the tears are shed.
And the stars are pretty diamonds, pretty little diamonds, colorless and cold.
Like ghosts.
OOO
A/N: Experimenting with a new style here. It might sound a little breathless, a little rushed, but just so you understand, that's kinda the POINT.
I've decided that I'm going to make Amazing Grace a full blown story, while Stand Firm will be drabbles.
Au revoir.