Rick Cucuta

“It was 3:57 AM. An explosion hit me from beneath my bedroom floor like an atomic bomb, jolting me awake. Its concussive wave carried horrible colors, smells and textures, but among them floated a familiar purple. I sat up, shivering with revulsion while the aftershocks flowed over me. As I focused on the warm, sweet purple buried inside the frigid, choking grey, my eyes widened with recognition. Mom!”
― Darin C. Brown, The Taste of Despair