The Color Essays

Purple

I had a dress once. I had a dress and -oh, my- was it beautiful. I never doubted that I looked dazzling when I wore it. I always dazzled, but this dress made me shine like I had eaten lightning bugs. There was this one time, a time I don't fully remember, but I wore that dress to a party, one down on Maple Avenue.

Purple.

Green.

Dark sky.

Lights on the porch.

Rocking chair.

What a party! There was music and dancing and laughter so loud you couldn't hear the cicadas chirping.

I was music, swaying and clapping to my own beat.

Light.

Spinning frescos.

Purple.

Green.

Dark sky.

Green.

Dark sky.

Green.

Dark sky.

Fire.

Fire.

Fire.

"FIRE!" People shrieked and ran. I heard the sound of gunfire, and I ran with them, even as their bodies fell to the ground. I had made it to the porch steps in time to see the Georgia skyline ablaze. Shocked, I stood still long enough to get hit right in the side by one of the Union. And then I shrieked.

My lungs burned as I dragged myself back into the house. Walking was reduced to staggering, then crawling. I dropped in a heap in the middle of the glorious ballroom that had been filled with gaiety only minutes before. I felt the blood stick my beautiful purple dress to my skin.

Smoke.

The Union was kind enough to send a package through the open door. It was a lit rag, and it caught the house as if it were kindling. I couldn't move.

I couldn't move.

I was scared.

I was still.

I was spinning frescos.

I was purple.

I was dark sky.

I… I was fire.