When Death took you, the sky was all sorts of red.
I sat and watched as each drop of your cold, dead blood painstakingly fell on the ground, and it sizzled on touching the soil. The sky, that day, was the darkest shade of crimson, and the most tragic shade of maroon.
The rivers ran green, sickened by the bile oozing out of your corpse, as you lay with your arms bent at an unfathomably awkward angle. The whole image was so strange that it almost looked normal, giving a casual passer-by the illusion that you were merely sleeping.
The air was swirling around you, slowly turning a brilliant shade of yellow, as gases started seeping out of your decaying body, mixing with the columns of steam on the hot summer day.
That day, as I sat and watched life leaving you, little by little, I realised how chaotically beautiful colours could be. Never, since that day, have colours looked that beautiful.