Another short story. Longer than the last one, but i think its pretty good.

Mark sat down in his chair at the breakfast table. His wife set in front of him a disc of yellow: a round yellow plate with yellow scrambled eggs and yellow grits and a yellow fork. She herself was wearing a yellow bathrobe and yellow slippers. She moved over to the window, pulled back the yellow gingham curtains and opened the window. She got her identical yellow plate of identical yellow food and sat down in her yellow chair at their yellow table. The placemats on the table were lemon yellow, the mat in front of the sink was bright yellow, the sink itself was light yellow, the walls of their house were butter-yellow, the floor was faint tan-yellow wood, the picture frames were all golden-yellow, and of course the sunshine was sunny yellow. Everything in their house was shades of yellow, from rich golden tones to almost white, because Mark let his wife do anything she wanted with the house and she wanted yellow. Mark was in love with his wife; Mark’s wife was in love with the color yellow, and Mark loved that about his wife. To their mutual friends, Mark often made joking (rather corny) remarks, like “Aw, she’s just yellow” or “She’s got a sunny disposition”. He had a whole bunch of them, corny jokes about his wife and the color yellow. He knew they were corny, but his wife loved them and their friends had come to expect them out of him and everybody generally laughed when he made one of those remarks even if they had all heard it a hundred times. He also frequently made the not-so-wise wise-crack, ‘sometimes I think she loves yellow more than she loves me.” Mark’s wife had once played a good prank on him; she had come back from the mall and told him excitedly, “You won’t believe what I found at Merle Norman - - - YELLOW lipstick! Isn’t that GREAT?” Mark had smiled weakly and agreed that it was great, although his wife could tell he was just dreading having to kiss her with yellow lipstick on. She then could tell him she was just kidding and laugh at his briefly-confused face, and then they could both laugh at her joke.
This morning, she said, “You must have been having a lot of dreams last night. I saw your eyes, they were whipping back and forth like crazy.” Mark nodded; “Yeah, when I first woke up I remembered them real good, but now I only remember a few bits and pieces……the high points, I guess.” Mark’s wife interjected, “I never really had very many dreams. Just every once and a while, I would have one. But they were never anything interesting. Never anything spectacular. I hardly ever remember them when I have them, anyway.” Mark nodded. He knew.
"Mmmmm", Mark said, "These eggs are great." "I was afraid I had put in too much pepper" his wife said, concerned, and then Mark could reassure her that no, the eggs were great.


The giant mass of greasy flesh and slick, slippery skin that was Gwaryin heaved itself onto its feet. Gwaryin lurched forward towards the mouth of his cave almost before he was fully out of his hibernation. As he staggered upwards towards the surface, he stopped to drink at a pool of not-quite water; a liquid murky black-brown in color, oily on the surface. Bubbles of not-quite air rose up from tiny cracks on the puddle’s bottom and floated up slowly because of the thickness of the liquid. The bubbles popped with nasty noises. Gwaryin paused to marvel at his reflection. Gwaryin was his species’ equivalent of a male; he was a huge specimen, in a race of huge specimens. He flexed grotesquely long appendages that were not-quite arms and popped ball-and-socket joints in his not-quite fingers. His reflection showed him a monstrous picture: only very vaguely human-like; a tiny head, tiny red eyes, no ears or lips or a nose to speak of, huge curling tusks; no neck, massive backwards-pointing shoulders, indescribably-shaped torso; short, tree-trunk like legs and two other limbs with peculiar joints and no hands whose function was obscure; and the whole covered with bumpy, porous, amphibian-like skin in shades of gray, brown, and green-black. After Gwaryin had drank, he flicked the droplets of water around his mouth off with a long, thin tongue – a tongue that had bone inside it, bone and cartilage and ball-and-socket joints, so that Gwaryin’s tongue was almost exactly like his fingers, only inside his mouth.
Gwaryin ducked his head and emerged from his cave. In front of him, all the way to the horizon, was a world-encompassing desert-plain; off to his left and right were giant craggy black mountain ranges and strands of volcanic peaks; the volcanoes, which had never been quiet since the world began, had glowing red streams of magma oozing down their sides onto the plain. Wispy clouds of gases swirling around close to the ground made everything look murky and un-defined. The ground was covered with nothing but black sand and black pebbles, with blobs of scum that never dried up clustered around close to Gwaryin’s cave. There were no plants.
Gwaryin looked up. The sky was black, dark and dull; the clouds were the same, only slightly lighter; the sun was tiny and red, nestled up in the blackness; it gave off almost no light, so that everything was dark, dark, dark. There was plenty heat, though; incredible heat. Red lightening made only faint sounds.
Gwaryin couldn’t stay up on the surface for long, or his skin would dry out. He had to stay right around the mouth of his cave, so that at any time he could go back down to the pools on the cave floor and re-moisten his skin and eyes and throat. He had come up to the surface, though, to eat. He walked over to one of the blobs of scum; it was black, like almost everything else, and grew in lobes into a dome-shape. The outside of the scum-dome was soft and fleshy, the inside was very moist and juicy – almost the only liquid on the surface of Gwaryin’s world. He ate seven blobs of the scum, but made sure to leave a few lobes left of each blob, so that those seven wouldn’t die, but would continue growing, so he could eat them later. As Gwaryin turned back towards his cave, he heard the scum-blobs making a low humming noise, the sound they made when they made a push to grow.
As he lumbered around the interior of his cave, a tiny pale yellow creature darted out from somewhere to his right, zipped past his feet, and vanished somewhere off to his left. Gwaryin saw it only as a flash of yellow, and then it was gone, but it stirred something in his brain; the creature had caused him to remember a dream he had had while he was dormant for the night. Gwaryin could only recall it vaguely; mainly, he remembered yellow. Everything in his dream was shades of yellow, from rich golden tones to almost white. Gwaryin remembered that it was horrible yellow, blinding to him. And then Gwaryin had gotten to the largest pool in his cave, which he walked into and submerged himself in so he could re-moisturize his skin; Gwaryin was just thinking about how good the not-quite water felt, and he never thought about the dream again.


Mark said, “Mostly what I remember about my dream was that almost everything was black. There was something about some nasty puddle of water, and these globs of fungus………Oh! And there was this tiny yellow fish, except it scuttled around real fast like a bug.’ His wife made an ‘ew-that’s-nasty’ face. “But the main thing was that everything in the dream was all dark and black.” Mark kissed his wife on the cheek. “Which is why it was so nice to wake up to all your yellow.”
His wife stabbed a piece of scrambled egg and said, “My friend Janis, you know, she was all into interpreting dreams, and Freud, and all that.” “And horoscopes” Mark added. His wife nodded and popped the piece of egg into her mouth, continuing, “And Janis told me one time that when we dream, we just visit some other place. And then we don’t remember much of it and we think, ‘it was all just non-sense’.”
Mark replied, “Well, I wouldn’t want to visit that place, then” and they both chuckled, even though it wasn’t really funny, but just because Mark had said it.
Mark’s wife got up and shuffled to the counter. “Ooh, the coffee is ready”.

i 've written some short troys also,they're all part of one series which is so far about 5 parts long,just beginning now on the 5 part though,nice story

Keep it up, it's got potential

Wow! Great story - I really enjoyed reading this. Loved the way you wove it together in an ongoing study of contrasts involving white and yellow (yellow being 'black' apparently, in this story). Terrific use of metaphor and to be honest, I'm surprised to see such a well-written story posted on an out-of-the-way place as this message board (no offense, I just didn't expect this kind of writing on a paranormal board). Great work - keep writing, you're good at it!

well, thanks!

i dont know what you mean?

Great job m in m I happen to have pale yellow walls in my place And yellow rugs in the bathroom....

Yellow and white, in your story, seemed to be conveying meaning since they were repeated over and over again in various objects/people/moods. What does the color yellow signify for you? (It must have meant something to you to have featured it so prominently in your story).

great story once i started reading,i could'nt stop till the end.

nothing in particular. it just felt right since it was the opposite of black. well, actually, white is the opposite of black, but nobody would have an all white home. they COULD have an all-yellow, home, though.