Little Inklings 2025

THE DAYS WITH THE BRIGHT COLORS By Arthur (Trip) Barrington ’29 A blur of bright colors swung through my arms. A yelp of courage as he conquered my heights. The promise of dinner brought him away every night, until he stopped coming. Day by day, my hair turned to terracotta, and when the sky cried drops of white, my hair became frail, my limbs weak. The ball of fire rose and fell right above me. I yearned for the days where my fingers would be used as swords, but that time has passed. As the sky weeped, so did I. Water ran through my skin and nestled in small crevices. Countless times, my hair has gone maroon and fallen, after hundreds of times the rays of heat have gone above my head and then settled behind the horizon. But then, the sky decided to stop weeping, the ground became as dry as my skin, and the rays of light forever beamed down. I felt as if my thirst could never be quenched. My hair was falling out, I was bending under my own weight. I noticed boxes, in a range of colors that could last forever! They thundered down, gone in an instant, but the only thing that they left was a sticky vapor that drifted into the sky. After a while, I started to taste it. It stuck to my throat and every breath felt like a final grasp of life. My vision faded in and out, barely breathing. Oh, how I yearned for those days with the bright colors. 4