Over a sea of grief, Scarlet died.

Above her dying mind were fossilfied memory imprints of

her favorite day.

For a minute, I stayed watching this brilliant display,

Until a god with a broom came and swept them away.

In their bereavement, all of her colorful friends turned

to a milky-grey depressing blend,

Which incidentally made Grey feel inane, so he set off to

find a less trite identity,

One as stunning and bold as Scarlet used to be.