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The grass smells red. Why?

I turned my head towards the skies. It still smelled blue, dotted with grayish clouds, warning me of incoming rain.

But what was wrong with the grass? I turned around in circles. I was surrounded by this red grass. I plucked a blade of grass, bringing it up to my nose. I sniffed at it. There! The grass does smell red. Why though?

Was it paint? I blinked my sightless eyes in confusion. Dammit! Now the red was on my fingers. It's dripping down now. Staining my sleeves. I brought the red stuff to my lips, out of instinct. It tastes like blood.

Something's wrong with my world. The sky's black now. Rain fell, but it wasn't clear. Green droplets stained the grass into a gross yellow. My blood drip dropped onto the yellow. Orange. I mixed the sky's black with the yellow. It smells like oil now.

I brought the colors together, they were all mixing together and together and all that I was getting was black. It was so loud and I couldn't handle it anymore. The smell stung my nose and I covered them, trying not to breathe in the toxicity.

Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, PLEASE STOP.

OKAY... WTF was that. FYI, Author's notes will be italicized. Anyways. That was really random. That was from my Creative Writing teacher's prompt of the day. It was "write a paragraph that begins with "The grass smells red..."" I didn't write a paragraph. I'll put my other one, the one I wrote for the Creative Writing class in here once I get my notebook.

The other one was really sentimental and deep. Like poetry. The other people in my class wrote about it as being in a dream, or in a poem. I write weird stuff okay.

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