A Polychromed Sequence

Originally typed on October 4, 2009. Completed on August 23, 2011.

The last assignment for the poetry unit in 11th grade creative writing class. My teacher noted about how the result to transforming the original text into a poem  more resembled a story rather than a poem. Makes sense now that I think about it because poetry is really complicated to consider and some people are naturally poets, others are...well, what can you call us? Storyteller is too vague. Anyway, the following was my failed attempt at poetry and my successful attempt at a short story. A quick note about the original: we were told to close our eyes and write down whatever thought came to mind without explaining it or changing it. If you notice how grammatically incorrect the original is, you'll see quite a bit of mistakes. But that's what I wrote and that's what I'm posting. Revised is mainly what this post is about. The story is an unusual one but refreshingly unusual. The reason I'm posting it is that while I'm in college, things have an added significance and everything matters, somehow. This post harkens back to the experimental timeframe of 11th grade where anything made sense under a certain context. It may not in this story for some people, but if it does, you're in for a treat.  

Original
Good morning. I see the bird in the sky.
The white is trying to win over the black.
It sees the eye inside my eye. Its opposite
color damn the mind. Lots of pressure have been
placed on my eyeballs. Many colors are flying, zooming
across the page. The colors are smiling at me. I try to
understand what they saaaay…Does this make any sense?
What am trying to do What is the purpose of these colors. What

Revised
The sky is showing off a beautiful ruby-sage combination,
mocking him with it across his field of view. The aggravated man
hurls his briefcase and breaks off the handle, his hands glowing
with a purple imprint. He strokes every flabby part of his face, waiting
for nature to take control it. His body becomes magnetized to the grass, and he has
no need to reverse the effect. His failures decide to leave the case,
one by one, single-file, to become next week’s trash. Horrible images
plague his mind, cold, heartless images want nothing else but
his suffering. His only haven is himself.
The world becomes half-covered in complete black, then full.
A second goes by, then a few more. Hold on...
A red being is plucked from the ground. Then a yellow, and a blue.
The general keeps plucking till almost every possible color is at his control.
He energetically lifts his hands and his soldiers follow the command.
At the other side, the general’s nemesis, plucks out her own
warriors. It’s very easy, she sees a shadow of herself, grabs it, and makes it
tangible. No thought process or special technique needed.
An entire army created under 27 seconds.
She lowers her hands, bows her head, and sits with crossed legs.
The assault begins.
As a rainbow floats across enemy lines, a sharper whip of shadows
slices it in two. A torrent of color splashes onto the ground,
soaks into the grassy fields. The droplets levitate upwards
and attach themselves to the shadow troops, sending out a surge of electrical
punishment, illuminating the grass to colors on a neon sign.
Her emotions are a mystery, as she can express nothing.
Fists clenched, one index finger in each hand is let go, falling carelessly
To the ground. The digits spiral like a DNA strand, drilling into Mother Nature’s
brown flesh and traveling at an incredible rate. The general turns back to his soldiers
and describes his fears. The digits fly out, under his feet,
like a geyser, and self-destruct. The impact instantly
destroys almost all in its proximity.
About 200 meters, to be exact. Instead, it gives the general a sinister shade of red.
A splash of it, across his body. He is uninjured, but his soul has changed.
Confidence expels the general’s fears, and quickly, his troops regroup, and with
one swift motion, pointed fingers, the troops are emblazoned with red.
Her fingers shoot back up to her hands. Her troops watch with pause.
She swings her head back, strands of hair spreading out in all directions.
Each strand attaches to the arms of the shadow troops, forming a powerful
Blade. The general’s troops, without pause, charge toward the shadows.
The general stares out towards his opponent and smirks with arrogance.
In a panic, the shadows explode, attaching themselves onto the red troops.
The resilient warriors try to remove the sticky blackness from their bodies.
All the while, the confident general steps onto the battlefield, and approaches his
Nemesis. She looks up for a moment, then returns to her calm stasis.
The general makes his first expression, one of homicidal excitement. The troops stop fighting, confused by the change in events. Without notice, the general grabs the leader’s head and holds it tightly. His arms lose their fluid appearance and
become physical bars of matter. She remains still. Quickly, streams of black sprinkle from her face. Her head shrinks in size until resembling a child’s. The general squeezes harder. Her head recedes into her body. The general loses his grip and collapses into her body. A wave of black splashes across the field. The black spreads until every single corner of the screen is black.
Half of the world is covered with black. Then none.
The man feels his face, then looks around. Only the natural
shadows of the world are present.
Suddenly, he panics and searches for his briefcase. All of his frustration leads him
to a single sheet of paper, hanging carefully on a branch. He notices that it’s a page from his briefcase. At once,  many brilliant ideas come to his mind,
all that would suit the page perfectly. The man giggles with joy,
And tries to grab the sheet and get to work. He forgets about how
short he is compared to the tree. For an hour, he effortfully leaps
without promise towards the branch, touching it only with his fingertips.   
The sheet slips right through the branch and flies aimlessly towards the horizon.