Ficlets

I woke up to a rainy morning. I put on my yellow raincoat and set out to find a yellow sun. I walked down the garden path, past a withered yellow sunflower. Outside my gate the yellow mailbox swam in the streaming rain. In the distance the traffic lights blinked yellow – on, off, yellow, no yellow, yellow, no yellow. Was this a warning or a sign, a beacon of promise or a foretaste of a rocky road ahead? I splashed through the puddles, looking for any glimpse of my goal through the rain-soaked haze of the city. The yellow pedestrian crossing led me on to the zebra crossing, only to be interrupted by the double yellow lines separating the conflicting streams of traffic. I hesitated. Should I follow them to the right or to the left? I took the left. Fortunately traffic was light, non-existent. As I came around the bend of the curve, the vista of the city opened up before me. Colourless buildings loomed over bland plazas. I scanned this horizon and suddenly, out of the murk and the drizzle flashed yellow.