How about a taste of something super secret from Sarah? (This is NOT the super, super, super, super secret reveal for July 19… or is it? No. No, it is not. It will be a while, she says, until this is done.)

As he ran along the Thames, he noticed that it looked like it was on fire. Maybe it was. There was smoke rising from the river and Marco felt a slight twinge of pain as he pictured fire in the olden days. The river now swirled with the force of flame, but the familiar reds and yellows people used to associate with fire were not there. Instead, the river was awash in grays, blacks, and whites. Marco imagined that if one took a photograph of fire, as if there were cameras anymore, and copied the negative, the shading would be about the same. Something about the lack of color, though, haunted him, in the same way it did here and there, usually late at night when it was too dangerous to go out and give in to the longing. Not that it was not dangerous now, of course, but that didn’t stop him.

Marco pulled the brush from his pocket and wet it on his tongue. He dug deep for his memory of fire, but he was too young. Instead, he relied on the paintings he had seen, the poems he had read, and in his mind, he created shades of red, yellow, orange, and gold that would fade as soon as he brought them to life. For a second, though, it would be worth it. He thought until he felt sure it was the best he could do, and then he dipped his brush in the direction of the Thames.

For a glorious moment, the river changed. The flickering black and white became engulfed in shades of crimson that were more alien to the world than food or safety. Marco paused, smiled at the transformation, and placed the brush back in his pocket. He had only put a small bit of magic into it and the image was gone with a blink. In his mind’s eye, however, it was permanent. They would be on to him now if they were still following, and he would need to run faster to escape. It was absolutely worth it, he thought, and he fled from the riverbank, the last remnants of color trailing him as if he were some kind of monochrome phoenix.