As the pebble from the tree fell, the apple from the deepest dungeons of the Gaia sprouted a tiny leaf. When the skies were green, and the seas were yellow, violet was the sun, and red was the night, a worm of utmost beauty; conceived in the minds of the writer and her influenced romanticism. The confluence of feelings and the stress of life created speckles of ashy snow. And a ray of pungent-smelling, offensively bright light left her nonplussed. As she convulsed and her body rattled, her shut eyes opened wide! Voila! It was Monday again, and she would carry on the blues till a more appropriate time- when dreams and craziness merge again; before the blues!