Writing Prompt: It was yellow.

Morning all. I am starting the day with frustration. The computer has decided to run like one of the mice inside is taking a nap. everything is at half speed. So this afternoon, more computer searching to see what is wrong. Yeah! Meanwhile, Let’s get started. writing in three…two…one….

Okay I feel much calmer now. as always the act of writing the prompts focused me and for todays edition calmed be down and eased the frustration about the computer issues. Which is good. Today is still not a day I have time to deal with it, but I will deal with it. At least I know that there is an additional reason for the morning prompts. Calm inducement. Also I kind of like the story idea.

Thursday, February 16th: It was yellow.

It was yellow.  The color was so unexpected that he found his eyes drifting towards it repeatedly throughout the day.  He simply couldn’t stop looking.  Yellow.  What could be yellow.  These wastelands featured brown in varying shades with the occasional gray mixed in for variation.  Every once in a while there would be charred black patches where the lightning would strike during the storm.  The black wouldn’t last.  It was too stark in this muted landscape to last.  

Evan lived in the last freehold to the north.  Here was the last usable land outside of the destruction zone.  Although usable was something of a misnomer.  

All of their food was grown in indoor farms and buildings were connected by protected pathways like over the ground tunnels.  It was considered usable because the acid storms did not blow in harsh enough to eat buildings away within days of them being erected.  Occupation was still possible, even if it was often less than pleasant.  

Here they were at the very edge of the ruined lands, or as close to it as anyone was willing to go.  Centuries prior a great war was fought on this land and dire weapons used.  They poisoned the land, leaving vast stretches uninhabitable by either man or beast.  The human population dropped to a very low number and was monitored closely.  The animals that survived were kept, nurtured, healed.  It had only been in the last few decades that they reached populations large enough where they had to have an annual culling to maintain a healthy population on the grazing land available.  If there was no annual cull all of them would starve and die out.  Still the produce of the cull was little and expensive.  Only the wealthy could afford it.  Most of what they consumed came from the vertical agricultural plantations.  They were vast buildings where everything from heat to light to moisture and soil composition was controlled.  It was a world within the world where the seasons varied from room to room depending on the ideal conditions for the plants to thrive.  The yearly conditions made no difference to the plants growing within.  

‘There was yellow there,’ he thought.  He remembered his own surprise and delight at seeing the yellow of the squash blossoms when he took his turn in the plantations.  Working there one cycle a year was mandatory for all citizens over the age of ten. It was the first time he had seen something natural that had color to it.  The yellow had been astonishing.  The greens and their many tones were fascinating.  He had not known there were that many tones of green in the world.  His eyes drifted once more to the outside world.  There was the yellow.