The night is black until the stars appear. One by one, ten by ten, hundreds by hundreds, they light the sky. Then they start to fall. They sizzle down and instead of eighty-eight constellations there is one huge firework. And I can never keep my eyes away.

I threw my hands up and danced on the iridescent ground. Purple held my hands. Pink played with my toes. Red slipped into my mouth, while blue slipped out. Yellow whispered in an ear, green shouted in the other. Orange warmed my heart.

The colours danced with me. I fell with the stars, the stars fell with me. The colours fell to. And music was ringing. The sound of footfalls, heartbeats, colours, and fireworks rushed around me.

But none of it made sense. Colours moved faster so I had to too. When I moved faster the stars did. Then because the stars were falling quicker, the colours started to run. We all rushed and then my feet weren’t touching the ground anymore.

Colours weren’t touching me anymore.

Stars weren’t falling.

I wasn’t dancing.

It was all still. Time was frozen and I was floating. I could swim through the air, through the rainbow. My sky and my ground was a moving canvas, a television screen of paint and picture that I was immortalized in.