By Julie

Black is a moody color. The color of the Arctic when it’s winter, and the color of a raincloud in a storm. Swirling shades of darkness mixing themselves together as if they a being combined in a pot, with a cloud of billowy black smoke hanging overhead.
Black looks like the back of a beetle, shiny and dark, and a television when it’s turned off. The color of plump garbage bags being hauled away in a big truck. A crisp night when it’s all dark with no stars, midnight colors swirling in the sky.
Black feels like the smooth, scaly back of a viper, scaly and moist and smooth. Black velvet of a cushion, or chilly and smooth as stained glass. Smoggy, as if a cloud of smoke is hanging over your head and won’t float away…
Black tastes like a raspberry, puckery, tart and bumpy, but kind of creamy in a way. But it depends on how you look at it, it could also taste like a long, stringy piece of licorice, plain with only slight flavor. Black stays in your mouth for a long time, maybe all day.
Black smells like burnt bread, or thick smoke, clogging your throat with a stench of fire and coal or even burning hair, an awful smell. But, as if it is stiff smoke, there seems to be a hint of crispness, like a cold winter night, but without snow.
Black sounds like the caw of a crow or the cry of a raven. Like two pewter symbols being clashed together. Black plastic on the lid of a vial breaking in two. A candle being snuffed in a breath of wind. Black is a sound that inturrupts the peaceful silence.
Black is not pointless. Black brings moody and darkness to the world, seeing its inhabitants have something to talk about or complain about or squint through.