Solid gold Bright and bold The highlight of my day In every single way A master of connection Sure fire bet for any election Life of the party The laughter hearty Compassion sincere Uprooting all fear No regards for regret No cause for you to fret In hers my soul confides In hers my peace resides

a lamp that shows my eyes those beads of shape and size a bookcase filled with gold hiding all the stories old I’ve been to this place before in dreams in tales of village lore and never once I knew the one the stories come from is you

There’s a golden chandelier that rests Above the old man’s body On twenty-first Where lovers waltz Above the place he died Nobody came To take him away ‘Till they knocked the building down So he’s resting In the dirt Where the chandelier spins round

Somewhere in the house, Bree slammed a door. Paul, Jr. was pacing in the dining room. Marybeth and Momma were doing something in the kitchen. Hands in her laps, head down, Aunt Dorie sat in Dad’s old recliner. She looked up and then back down flipping the gold coin in her fingers.

It was heavy, satisfyingly heavy. Marveling Aunt Dorie tossed the coin in her hand. The edge ridges were pristine. The light sparkled as the coin, her coin, twirled in the air. With her thumb and index finger she explored the golden figure on the coin face. A beautiful woman in gorgeous flowing robes stared back at her. Just like the salesman said holding a coin is holding a masterpiece in miniature. Aunt Dorie listened. Paul, Jr was walking down the hallway probably to argue with Bree. Junior loved to argue just like Paulie. Is only he would listen, Aunt Dorie thought.

Daddy left Momma’s care to her. She had cared for them both for years. The appointments, errands, the urinals, Aunt Dorie had done the caretaking while Paulie was busy with his family, his career. Aunt Dorie always takes care of everything. She had the right to invest her parents’ savings and Jeff was so kind. The golden woman held a sword aloft. Victory or vengeance, Aunt Doris thought as she ran her fingertips over the lustrous heroine.

Momma and Marybeth came into the living room carrying coffee and cookies. Momma’s hands shook and Aunt Dorie reached to help. With hard eyes, Marybeth glared at Aunt Dorie and steadied the cookie plate. The coin tumbled from Aunt Dorie’s lap. Rolling over the area rug, the coin rolled and landed by Bree’s feet. They stood in a semi circle around Aunt Dorie.

Grimacing Bree handed the coin to Paul, Jr. Aunt Dorie fought the urge to grab it. Everyone was looking at her. Her heart began to beat quicker. She thought about her research on gold and silver investing and her many phone calls with nice Jeff. Her investment was safe in a vault in Carson City, Jeff had promised. There’s plenty more where that came from. Aunt Dorie crossed her arms and thought of her shiny coins.

She was gold.

All of his life Prem had been surrounded by the cold tones of silver. His family crest, a cool grey star to match the namesake of his father, the Silverstar. Their house had been decorated with delicate white curtains intertwined with sparkling silver threads. All of the rings on his hand, gifts from each of his birthdays since he was five, were silver. Even the plates they ate on were the cold, stoic metal.

But Aida was gold. As warm as the golden rays of sunlight that beamed through the parted morning clouds and bathed the forest in lively hues of yellow.

When they had been to the sand shores of the lake for the first time, as close as the two had ever come to seeing the ocean, her face had lit up with excitement. The sand was not white as the beaches of Olympia were said to be but rather they were golden sands.

The warm hues seemed to reflect from her smiling face as she watched the gentle lapping waters of the lake while he watched her.

She’s gold like the honey she stirs in her tea. He can’t stand the stuff—the honey or the tea. The golden, sugary substance thick like ichor is far too sweet and the tea is far too spiced. But the smell reminds him of her.

On cold mornings sitting across from her, he’s watch and listen to the clink of her spoon against the mug. And he could smell the strong spiced scent of clove and cinnamon and cardamom. The aroma is strong but nearly as jarring as the taste he samples from her cup.

It suits her, he thinks—comparing her to gold or to sunlight or spiced tea. Things he had lived so long without it seems, that he was lacking—gold like warmth. He needs her. He needs her warmth.

If you need to know the time then a watch is a perfect companion. If what you need, however, is more time then you’ll be quite understanding of Kelly Hours current dilemma. Kelly is a businesswoman, well, aspiring one. As of now, she’s got the credentials but none of the experience. The only magazine she could pose for is one titled Simply There. Every workday, she finds herself wishing to be noticed but every meeting someone always gets the best of her.

Today, it’s Adam Taylor, a constant pain in her side. The higher up’s have nicknamed him Midas because every business proposal he’s touched so far has become the golden standard. He’s brought in so much revenue that Kelly’s shocked they haven't created a statue of him. With how pompous he was, she expected he’d request multiple. Kelly couldn’t stand Adam. Whenever she stared at him hoping he’d combust he’d send an agonizing playful wink her way. And then there was his aggravating nasal laugh that she swore she could hear everywhere. Adam always had something to laugh about.

Trying to grab a cup of tea at the water machine? Cue Adam’s laughter as he approaches you to talk about the premium coffee he drinks at home. Did your favorite golden bracelet get stuck in your hair? Cue Adam’s laughter as he embarrassingly helps you free your hand. It was awful! His laugh had become a permanent fixture in her head and even haunted her dreams. Yes, Adam Taylor was someone Kelly Hours needed time away from. He wasn’t her only rival for attention but he was the most irritating.

Then the worse thing happened. She and Adam were called into their boss’s office, Mr. Worth. Once inside, she stared at the golden bowl full of golden apples on his desk, trying so hard not to stare at his barely on wig piece.

“I’ve got a project for you two,” he said followed by the sound of shuffling papers.

Kelly hears Adam move forward and she looks up, seeing her boss had his hands out with a stack of papers in each. Adam grabs the left stack and she the right.

“Will we be working together?” Adam asked.

Kelly glanced at him, spotting and hating the look of scrutiny on his face. She didn’t want to work with him either but at least her reasoning had nothing to do with his work capability. Everyone thought she didn’t have the ferocity and means to work the corporate ladder because of her outward meek-like appearance. Their judgments most likely based on how she wore golden-trimmed glasses. Sure, there was also her tendency to end up on coffee duty for everyone in the office but it was definitely the glasses they were judging. But there she was standing in Mr. Worth’s office which would show everyone that someone saw all the potential locked up inside her.

“Not exactly.” Mr. Worth said much to their relief. “You see, the company we worked with wanted us to have a female perspective and—“

“Wait, are you giving me this project because I’m the only woman here?”

“What? No!” Mr. Worth said in a high-pitch tone. “Let’s not start saying things that will make HR come around.”

He maintained himself, continuing. “Look, I’m tasking you with this because I believe in you.”

“And I’m the only woman here.”

“I believe in you,” Mr. Worth repeated. “I was thinking you both can create separate ideas then we compare each to see whose is better.”

It was obvious to Kelly that no matter what idea she came up with Mr. Worth was set on Adam’s. If she could predict his plan, which is obvious, her name will be attached as proof they listened to their client’s request.

“I’ll get right on it, Mr. Worth,” Adam said, readying to leave the room.

“Wait, just so you know the deadline’s tomorrow so you both be quick about this.”

Kelly’s eyes widen at the deadline. There was no way she could come up with something by tomorrow! She expects Adam to protest the deadline first but instead, he gives a charming smile.

“Of course!” Adam enthuses as he left.

Ugh. Now, she couldn’t protest the deadline at all. If she did then she’ll look incompetent in comparison. So Kelly left the room without a proper goodbye and went on her lunch break. She thought she’d come up with something by now but her lunch break is almost over. Sitting on a bench, she gazes at the golden fountain in the park. Her phone alarm goes off and it’s time to to head back. She gets up and throws her food away. Then heads over to the golden fountain on a whim.

Kelly didn’t believe in magical circumstances. It was hard work that made anything achievable. But still, she reaches into her pocket for a coin and makes a wish. Nothing happened of course. No idea popped into her head instead she is left disappointed. As she makes her way back, she stuffs her hands in her pockets and feels something odd in one. She clutches the odd finding and takes it out of her pocket. It’s a golden pocket watch but the time wasn’t right. And now that she looked closer neither was the face of the watch. Instead of numbers or numerals, there are strange symbols all golden in color. Even the hands of the watch are gold. Out of curiosity, she moves the hour hand of the watch back and finds herself back in Mr. Worth’s office.

This time the watch in her hand looks like a normal golden pocket watch. She looks around both Mr. Worth and Adam are staring at her.

“Am I wasting your time Ms. Hours?” Mr. Worth asks with clear annoyance.

She pockets the pocket watch, a shameful look on her face.

“No, definitely not.” She says, her mind reeling for answers but only left with a cloud of confusion.

I cried when he was born. I held my wife’s hand as she became a mother. Moaning, then whimpers, and with a final last gasping scream she brought him into the world. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. Breathing, gasping, laughing, then with a final burst it was done. The hours of pain were done. She cried with the relief of it. I bent down, touched my forehead to hers. She smelled of sweat and stale breath and of a sweetness like vanilla ice cream. We cried so we didn’t hear how quiet the room had become. The doctor and nurses hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken. There was supposed to be the sound of crying. There were supposed to be things happening. Instead there was a hollowed out silence and I watched his mother’s face twist into fear. “What’s wrong?” No one replied. No one moved. “I can’t,” the doctor stuttered, “I can’t move. Help me.” That was when I first saw my son. Shimmering gold. A wriggling statue still attached by the umbilical cord to his mother. Beneath him, the doctor’s hand was pinned to the table, crushed. With the help of two nurses, I lifted my son off the doctor’s hand. I found out later he weighed 120kilos. 120 kilos of shimmering wiggling solid gold.

Things got crazy after that. Doctors rushing in and out. Half of them just wanted to gape at him, at us. They didn’t know what tests to run. There are no tests for babies made of solid gold. No way to understand how it was possible because of course it isn’t. Newspapers announced it was “A Miracle!”: “Golden Boy Confounds Scientists!” “Rich Beyond Their Dreams!” “Family Blessed With Riches!”

Except we weren’t blessed. Everywhere we went, they pointed and stared. His mother was whisked away for test after test after test. They tried to take blood tests, but he has no blood. They bent dozens of needles finding that out. My son screamed in terror as they jabbed and poked and stared at him. Eventually, they let us all go home.

We named him Aurum.

We became rich after his first haircut. I brought the threads of pure gold to a jeweller who spun them into the most beautiful and delicate necklaces you could imagine. That paid for our medical bills, and for a new house.

We had to move quite soon in his childhood. As he grew, the weight became too much for our furniture, then the floors began to creak painfully with his every step. One afternoon, he woke especially happy and crawled into our bedroom and into our bed. He just wanted to wake us up, I suppose. Just a child being silly. He stood at the end of the bed and jumped. The frame collapsed and he fell sideways, landing on his mother’s leg. Snapped it in two places. I’ll always remember him curled in a ball in the corner of the bedroom screaming as the ambulance attendants took his mother off to the hospital.

He never got in our bed again.

Soon we realized we weren’t safe. There were people who cared more about how much he was worth than about whether he was alive. The first time, they tried to pound in our front door. I just had an old tennis racket. The police arrived before they got in, but I’d been ready. I remember Aurum begging me to hide, to run. I wasn’t going to let anyone take my son. I knew what I was supposed to do.

Aurum stopped going to school around that time. Parents had been telling their kids to bring some of his hair home, and he’d started getting bald patches. One kid tried to bite off his ear in gym class.

We had money to move away, somewhere remote and anonymous. Aurum didn’t go outside much. He loves watching TV. He’s never been able to trust many people, so the sitcom friendships probably seemed strange and wonderful.

We lived together, the three of us, alone and separate.

When his mother got sick, Aurum shaved his head for the treatments. Cut his toenails and fingernails. When it got bad, I caught him about to cut off his little toe with an axe. Some sacrifices don’t matter though. Eventually, everyone leaves.

Aurum left last night. He left me a letter. He told me he loved me and didn’t want me to be alone. He told me that if he went away, I wouldn’t need to hide any longer. He didn’t know what would happen where he was going, but he would be safe.

Every night I fall asleep wondering where he went. Sometimes I imagine him at the bottom of the ocean, surrounded by beautiful fish and coral, gold shimmering amongst blues and greens, free and at peace. Sometimes, I imagine him laying deep and heavy in a beautiful lake, looking up at the boats and swimmers floating past.

I imagine him at peace. And I cry.

Don’t feel bad about guilt weary one, Sigh only when you need time. Our thoughts do leave us alone And do our mind a crime.

Do not overthink little one, Air your fears like rain. Our cares are more than fun And our loves not a bane.

Do not feel fear oh princess, You stand taller then their cries. Your tears will come less and less, Reaching high into the skies

….

I know this is not the prompt lol but it’s from the heart.

In the morning, she sees the golden sun rising outside her window. ‘What a beautiful start to my day?’ she thinks.

Before school, she dresses in a shiny gold dress and strappy gold heels. She smiles at her reflection in the mirror. ‘I look good in gold,’ she thinks.

At school, she admires the gold star at the top of her English paper. ‘I deserve this,’ she thinks.

After school, the team goes out to eat. She buys fries and sits down with her friends. She throws out the burnt black fries and the undercooked yellow fries. She smiles at the fries that are left. ‘Only golden fries for me,’ she thinks.

Before the game, she uses a gold scrunchy to put her hair into a high pony. She wears a gold jersey. ‘Gold is the color of winners,’ she thinks.

After the game, she receives a gold medal. She meets up with a boy with gold hair. He gives her a gold bracelet. ‘Only the best for me,’ she thinks.

Before bed, she uses a gold glitter gel pen to write in her journal. She smiles. ‘I wish tomorrow will be another happy day,’ she writes, ‘a day filled with golden moments.’

The next morning, she sees only black outside her window. ‘Where is my golden sun?’ she thinks.

She looks for news on her phone. She sees the headline: “Sun has turned to gold. Black skies. The end has come.”

‘I refuse to believe that my golden sun is gone,’ she thinks.

She turns on the overhead light. ‘I’ll just pretend it’s my golden sun shining through my window,’ she thinks.

Before school, she grabs her gold dress out of her closet. Or she tries to. ‘It’s stuck,’ she thinks.

She loses her balance and strikes her eye against her solid gold dress. She sees red. ‘My gold dress has turned into real gold,’ she thinks, ‘just like the sun. But I can’t wear a solid gold dress. What am I supposed to do?’

She sees only red clothes in her closet. ‘I refuse to wear red,’ she thinks.

She wears her pajamas to school and goes bare foot.

At school, she sees empty blue hallways. She crosses her arms and stares out at nothing.

She goes to her classroom and sits at a desk. She is the only person in the school. ‘I won’t get a gold star today,’ she thinks. ‘There is no one here to give it to me.’

She stares at her blue desk. ‘I refuse to miss my gold star,” she thinks.

She goes to the front of the class, to the teacher’s desk. She pulls out a heavy gold star. ‘It’s real gold now too,’ she thinks.

After school, she goes out to eat by herself. She sees a packed and messy green restaurant. She sees people shoving food into their mouths. She feels sick to her stomach.

“Eat whatever you want,” says a man with a saucy green beard. “No one is working because the world is ending. Just don’t eat the fries. The black burnt ones and the yellow undercooked ones are good. But the perfectly cooked ones have turned to solid gold now.”

“I refuse to eat black or yellow fries,” she says, “and fries are the only food I’ll eat.”

She leaves the restaurant.

She goes to the house of the boy with the golden hair. She rings the doorbell.

The boy’s dad answers the door with a gray face.

She knows what the boy’s dad will say before he says it.

“He can’t see you,” he says. “He turned solid gold, just like the sun.”

She goes home to find her gold glitter gel pen. She knows, before she even sees it, that it will be solid gold, that it won’t write anymore.

She walks into her room. She sees her yellow glitter gel pen. She picks it up and stares at it in awe. ‘I thought it would be solid gold,’ she says, ‘but it’s not even gold colored anymore.’

The pen opens it’s eyes and looks at her.

She drops it and jumps back.

“What color am I?” it asks. “Will you write with me? Will you write with a yellow pen?”

“No,” she says. “I refuse to write in yellow. I refuse to have any moments that aren’t golden.”

“Then what will you do,” asks the pen.

“I just won’t write in my journal today at all,” she says. “I’ll go to sleep. Tomorrow will be filled with only golden moments.”

“If you go to sleep,” the pen says, “without writing in your journal, then tomorrow won’t happen at all. If you won’t write in yellow now, then you will never write in gold again.”

“I don’t understand,” she says.

“You have to accept all of your moments not just the golden ones or you can’t have any moments at all,” the pen says. “To have the golden moments, you need to accept the black moments, the red moments, the blue moments, the green moments, the gray moments, and the yellow moments. You need to write in yellow now or you can never write in gold again.”

She thinks about this. She doesn’t understand it at all.

‘But,’ she thinks, ‘if accepting this yellow moment means that I can have more golden moments, then I think I can do it.’

She takes the pen. She opens her journal. She writes in yellow.

She keeps writing and the color of ink changes as she writes. She writes in black about the end of the world. She writes in red about her abysmal wardrobe. She writes in blue about being alone at school. She writes in green about the messy restaurant. She writes in gray about the golden-haired boy turned to solid gold. She writes in yellow, ‘I wish tomorrow will be another day filled with many colors.’

Pressure. Darkness. Solid. We found it in the mines of Calumn. Glittering like the sun once removed from the rock and brought to the light. But never enough. Cold. Wet. Jostled. We found it in the rivers of Qatar’d. Glistening like the stars among the pebbles. But never enough. Aseptic. Beautiful. Still. She lays out of the path of time. Waiting like Oppy on Mars, for enough sunlight to come. G01D is the only cure. But there is never enough.

So she sleeps, in the cryogenic cold, for the world to find all the gold.