Prompt

A single, selfresonating column of inverted rainbows rises from the center of a vast, still plain made entirely of solidified soundwaves frozen midoscillation, its surface not smooth but textured like the grooves of a vinyl record played backward in zero gravity. The column does not refract lightit emits silence in visible frequencies, each band of color pulsing with the thermal afterimage of a lullaby sung in a language composed of breaths never taken. The ground beneath is not earthit is a thick, undulating membrane of compressed empathy, its surface etched with the faint, geometric patterns of a conversation that ended before it began. Above, the sky is not skyit is a slowmotion storm of inverted thundercloud

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