We were just sitting there, on the rocks, talking about the future, and one day we were doing it.
The future, I meant.
We were doing the future.

There was a blue fabric that stretched overhead, blotted with cotton whisps. When Venus sighed, the clouds tumbled over themselves. They rolled slowly over an invisible platform in the sky. A sea of stars magnetized itself to the earth beneath. The sea— like a glass box of confetti, and when a kid shook it, it dazzled and glared like a thousand splendid suns.
As amazing as this sounded in literature, Riku can assure you; seeing this shit day after day all of your life was uneventful.

                Boring even.

There was nothing in the distance, nothing ever approaching the tiny speck of land stuck in this sea of confetti.

Riku laid sprawl out on the sand. He was drawling out ‘literature’ in his head— but like a kid on the first day of class, (who begins his notes with a neat set of letters, and eventually ending up with uncoherentable pages of mumble jumbo), it all wounded up sounding awkward and distasteful. He needed more material to go on. There was nothing inspirational that he could find anymore.

                                                       ”Aaaaaah! What is there to do on this island?!”