Other stories for this prompt

Green cover holds me. Oak Tree stands guard behind me. Sun warms me. Stream sings me to sleep. Sleep meets with Dream and carries me into the depths of Imagination where everything is what nothing ever was or will be.

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Her eyes were green.
No, not just green.
Emeralds, yet infinitely more precious.
Like the sea, though far more deep and turbulent.
Greener than freshly blossoming thyme or the scent of mown lawns in summer.
More intoxicating than the green of absynthe.
Greener than jealousy.
Greener than the grass on the other side.

They stared into the grey of me.

And I knew those eyes would never be mine.

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Green. Indubitably so. A vast expanse if it, spreading out to the horizon. Different shades breaking it up into sections. Lush, vibrant, light squares surrounded by dark borders.

I started running. Tearing through the blissful countryside, wind passing through my hair. I was free at last. Free to do anything I wanted.

I vaulted over a hedge, the chains on my feet ploughing the top. Faint sounds of barking came from far behind me. They were coming for me. Gotta go faster.

I found a road, hopped a fence over onto it and headed down the side, keeping my head...

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Colour of greed, colour of money, mostly.

Apartheid is long gone, but the mind of the elders (my parents) still fondly rememeber that history where advancements were meaningful and plenty. A time where the "whites ruled the land" and "the country was better for it".

Completely oblivious to their historical visit I brought myself to watch news beside my father and had a stingy comment to make on the concerns of some Western Cape citizens that feel threatened by "the freedom of of all citizens to apply for jobs and be transfered across the country unconditionally". Sounds silly to...

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(Author's Note: To read Part 1, follow this link: http://sixminutestory.com/stories/somewhere-better.)


All around her was greenery, stretching beyond the horizons, undulating and flowing. If she had ever been outside the confines of the busy city, she might have compared it to endless fields of gently waving, emerald green wheat.

The city. Where had the city gone?! She had been there just a moment ago... Hadn't she?

She liked the city. At least, she thought she did. It was familiar. It was comfortable. It was scary at times, and intimidating, but it was a fear she *knew*, one she had always...

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"But I like green."

"You would. Green is a very you colour." She waved her hand, apparently indicating his shirt. "You look good in green."

He raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Do I?"

She ignored it, ignored her cheeks going pink - there was no point to this line of conversation, she was not going to think about it.

Except that he did look good in green, very good. Something about dark hair and dark green and those eyes -

"I just don't think green is a good colour for a rug. I don't think it'll go in the living room....

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Not particularly cosy and warm during dinner when all are bundled up on the sofas watching tv with the woes of work peering through the keyhole of the door tightly shut.

Nor tranquil and soothing in the morning as you slump through the pale blue bathroom with your body and mind working aggressively against the inevitable routine that will discharge all the energy you gained during last night's rest.

It conveys less about passion and adventure for love and life than the vivid red that somehow decided to reside the kitchen walls to remind everyone that your life mostly...

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Green bows were her signature hair accessory. Abby, with her fiery red, curly hair, always had a green bow. Her grandmother thought it was special to represent her Irish heritage, her mom thought it was a phase. Last year, when Abby was 8, she wore rain boots wherever she went. The green bows were just "a thing."

In school, though, the bows didn't go over so well with the other kids. Abby was teased for always wearing them, gettin called names for looking the same everyday. Bonnie was a mean girl at Abby's school, and ripped Abby's favorite green bow...

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Green. That was the colour that he always thought when he thought of her.
It wasn't hard to see why.
The shirt that she had worn the day that they had met had been green. That was the night that he had led her onto the dancefloor to cheer her up. Her green top had been the only thing that he had been able to see behind the fog.
Her nails had been painted a deep dark green the first time that he had reached out and held her hand. He would never forget her smile when she turned her...

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About the prompt

Originally displayed on:
March 09, 2011


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