What if I offered to sell you a rainbow? Inspiring glow is extra. And so is shipping.
It might break in the mail. They’re notoriously bad at being careful with precious things. You’d open your long awaited box to find pointed edges of sharpened light, colors once so smooth now jagged and raw.
I think there’s more light in them, when they shatter. Anyway, you can’t cut free a dream with the puny, blunt thing you used to admire in the sky. But with this, with this you could sever the ropes that held you back all your life.
But if you cut yourself free, there’s no reason to come back. Not really. Not anymore.
Well. Back to your box of broken prismlight. Put the pieces aside for now. We can play with them later, when whimsy and starlight tempt us back, and the birth pains of your thoughts make drastic measures seem worthwhile.
What of the box? Across its edges are multicolored dust, ground off your discarded shipment, glittering under your 60 watt tungsten bulb. See how it shines? Like fishscales in sunlight, like coins scattered across a floor.
You could make enough dreams to fill a week of nights with the precious contents of this box! Even then, you’d have seasoning for many nights to come. (Special tip: dust the remainder into the dirt with seeds you thought too old to grow. Wait a little life, then check back. I’ll leave the best surprise untold.)
But this is all hypothetical. There is no such star-dusted box in your kitchen, no broken glories on your floor.
The question still stands, though. What if I offered to sell you a rainbow?
More askbox stories. This one was for a very different type of tumblr. A little more thought went into the work as a whole, instead of taking it section by section, and it’s not quite as personalized as my other one. I might try more stories for this person in the future to see if I can do a little better.