Swarthy & 'Fro

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Synopsis

A woman realizes the society shes lives in was designed for her to mostly feel sadness, she creates a world of happiness and dwells upon it to feel comfort.

Figment’s dreams…where do they all go? To a dreamy hilltop of beating hearts? Can such parallel universes always mend their broken parts? Is it when she is happy and creates a world without the oppressor? Or is it when she strengthens her mind, body, and soul to reach self-love or a princelier lover? 

Figment fell amongst a rabbit’s hole of dreary downfalls and doubts that soon turned the damsel in distress to become braver. Her life once volunteered a moment to reside in a void in space, where they had no choice to preface with aliens who resorted there—the beings who could not speak her foreign language of nightmares she abides to erase. 

But the world of father time proclaimed a mournful sigh that there is another universe for her to have a graceful goodbye—far beyond the tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock crumbled clock and steampunk setback that are rising their piping hot psss, psss, psss steam to warm her mares and warn anyone who cares. 

And so, when Figment passed out from all the gloomy dunes who dusted her ruins—there were runes there that cased false depictions of true homeliness and perfections and constructions of contractions with depictions of altercations. Her associates noticed these illusions handcrafted from her rustle rustle, rustle rustle, rustle rustle prickled brushes to paint her unwanted illustration. 

But may Figment please oil pastel a new piece of release? May she vibrantly show and tell her pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter heart to smile and to be garnished in the elegance of her self-discipline to pledge faithfulness towards her liveliness? 

Where yellow can be a booming beaming bright sun that can instantly change into a resourceful and lit blue moon. Grey being the mountainous trenches that reach towards the white heavens and descend upon a place where green glazes the grass, brown bares the soil, and red, orange, indigo, and violet originating, indicating, and visualizing the spring flowers Figment always daydream within her cold bold hours. 

Figment can see it now…towers of wind-powered windmills that are goliath and wooden, they create this sense of zip-zap, zip-zap, zip-zap electricity that is connecting and giving. And those nearby and once enclosed flowers have already bloomed, presumed to be feathery, flimsy, and are fruitfully assumed.

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