Prism

The first rays of sunrise pierce the darkness, dividing the sky from the water where the two once seemed to meet. A handful of stream water in my palm reflects a riot of colors, and the moon's reflection is gone.

Those memories, the good and the bad, the sorrowful and the joyful, all flow away through the gaps between my fingers with the stream.

Then new people and new things will appear, slowly taking their place, slowly covering them up, until not a trace of the past remains.

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*An irresponsible little short story I wrote in high school, trying my hand at short fiction... Not recommended.

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