Yellow

The world runs like a lost child. No, not a lost child, a found one. It flees between states of being, fluid in the endless loch of the universe, until it is trapped in a semi-solidity, a state where forms may maintain themselves for longer than an eon.

The state is one of infinite vastness, itself tiny when floating amongst everything. It’s state still flows one way, trickling back into the endless space of the cosmos. Inside forms flourish, imperfect copies replicate themselves throughout, consuming each other until perfect and imperfect reach the bounds of infinity, and turn to face one another. They rush to one another and join, ripping back membranes and driving themselves beyond.

And so, everything turns a squirming yellow.