She was... yellow. Like a wheat field billowing in the wind beneath the summer sun. Like a glass of cooling lemonade. Her colors were refreshing. Something I needed. So, I decided to speak to her. I realize now that she is and always will be yellow, like a wasp hiding amongst sunflowers. Her yellow burned viciously, more similar to the sting of those wasps. I realize she was not refreshing. The emotions I feel around her now remind me more of when i was younger and I decided to have a lemonade stand. It failed miserably, and on top of that, I had gotten lemon in my eyes. Now i remember why I've always hated lemonade.

—An Original Story Excerpt, "it's just art," by Luca