the prompt was something along the lines of "if you were on a deserted island, which five books would you take with you and why?"

i nearly died- thankfully, i was able to add a twist to the prompt and save my sanity.

constructive criticism is my number one goal, atm.  

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Blue.

That's what I first remember.

One moment, I'm cruising along in a gigantic yacht made of dreams and desires at 25 knots, and next-?

blue.

Not a bright, striking cobalt, nor a subdued shade of sapphire; it's actually more of a filtered cerulean.

But it's still blue, nonetheless. I'm in a fetal position, in an unknown place, pondering blue. Suddenly, just as swiftly as I regained consciousness, my brain nonchalantly registers my oxygen deprived state and sends a casual signal to my legs to start pumping against the dark and to the light- there's an awkward resistance against the skin on my legs and when I utter a quick gasp after abruptly feeling again, I choke on salt and pristine water.

So I'm in the ocean.

I'm in the ocean.

I don't react quite as I should; instead of kicking for my life to the surface, I mingle around the fish in the ultramarine for a bit more before slowly trapezing to the sun's critical glare. I surface with a giddy little splash, and breathe once more- the sudden rush of oxygen awakens my survival instinct- adrenaline is now coursing through my veins, telling me to swim or die. I choose the former.

My plane of view is nothing but shimmering cerulean expanses, dotted by little floating-

Floating-

Books?

I pull myself against the gentle ebb of the tide to one of the damp books and I study the cover.

It's blank.

I swim away.

But they're everywhere, I now notice, and I suddenly realize these were the volumes I had kept tucked away in my library- all the books I've ever read, all the books I've ever wanted to read, and all the other books my subconscious felt I should be aware of.

There's a moment of reflection before I glimpse around; my eyes skipping over the dime store novels and pausing on the passionately bound treasures, but none can compare to the thick, frayed spine which I abruptly notice before me.

It's covered in soft leather and its pages are a deep cream colour and there's something about it that sings to me in a language whenever the water slips over the volume's intricate binding.

My hands reach for the sublime codex, but it the sea takes it from me - teasing me, testing me - and I follow with an insane determination to devour the transcendent opus that such a radiant work as this must protect.

My mind isn't working quite the way it should- the past is not noted and the future is not believed. All I know is that I must keep swimming for the book- never mind why or for what reason. The purpose was the action- the action was the purpose. I am still paddling through the comfortably warm water - hoping for anything and regretting nothing - when I see the waves softly carry the book - my book - to a little sliver of yellow.

The dull, muted islet seems to sparkle and shimmer to my weary eyes- the waves pull me in and I'm padded in delicate ribbons of emerald seaweed by the time I slide onto the cashmere shore.

And my heart is joyous because I can hear the book's song.

My feet are bloodied by the diamonds embedded in the beach, but I ignore the scarlet trail behind me and I keep moving forward, forward, to the trilling parchment.

I stumble- I fall.

My eyes are filled with powdered glass and my bones are shattered by the garnet spirals embedded in the shore and I feel no pain because I have reached the song and the singer. My fingers tremble when I touch the majestic grooves and indentations- the trembling overtakes my entire body and I slowly let myself cry.

I feel time slowing to a soft end-

The book is silent.

I pause: this leather cover holds something divine inside- some beautiful magnum opus, the thoughts of a demi-god, the musings of Gaia and Uranus- maybe even the answers to all the questions humans have ever asked, all the questions humans will ever ask, and all the questions humans have been afraid to ask.

I pry the damp cover open and a soft wind picks up and shuffles the smooth pages-

It's blank.

It's blank!