Contributor: Shihab Noor and Dekript Pakpoom-Shihai
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This last golden day, of this golden week, begun like gold. Not quite shimmering exactly, not gold dust to be sure, but the homogenous dulled gold that marks the mornings of my life. Was it this morning, I asked myself? The answer repeated itself a million times over in my hollowed-out skull.
Not yet.
My feet touched the floor, and I placed my hands on my knees tentatively. They still ached from the previous days labor. A golden, fruitful labor it was. The gold coins I left on the dresser still shone with their hard-day’s satisfaction. Of what more could I ask?
The day’s golden moon lights streets and falls golden in through windows upon hands touched with gold rings, embossed with golden rubies. It’s time for work! Excitedly I snatch my golden jumpsuit out of the dresser drawer...
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