Gibberish

Suppose you wake up one morning, yawn some, fall back again, roll a little, get up, stretch a bit, and go of instead of the washroom to the window, fly it open and find to your shock (or awe, or anything for that matter) that the world has taken a tinge of pink! The sky –baby pink, the greens - greenish pink, the oblong concrete monsters – pinkish from the baby pink sky, and to top the already toppled over senselessness of the situation, the air is scented with a trace of fruitypink! Rub rub, rub your eyes, pinch your tummy, breathe deep and exhale. Still the same!

What would your reaction be to such a phenomenon? Honestly now, and seriously too. Would you be scared? Confused? Puzzled and anxious? Would you telephone the police? Would you pray? Or would you numbly await an explanation, refusing to analyze the event or even experience it with your full emotion until you had read the papers, tuned in the news, heard how experts from the universities were explaining the chromatization (or, fuitification or whatever it maybe), learned how the geologists planned to deal with it, were reassured by the Prime minister, who might insist, as Prime ministers always will, that nothing really had gone wrong?

Or instead of fear, bewilderment and anxiety, or in addition to fear bewilderment and anxiety, or instead of a hard impulse to dismiss the happening and get back to business-as-usual, or in addition to a hard impulse to dismiss the happening and get back to business-as-usual, do you imagine that a bright trace of delight, unnamable and indefensible, might tickle down your spine; could you feel in an odd way elated – elated, perhaps, because, in a rational world where even sickening-malicious-crimes are familiar and damn near routine, some thing of almost fairytale flavor had occurred?