Somewhere over the rainbow

Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, there is an angry woman eating humble pie.

But, she has to be careful that not a morsel fell on to the band of colours that she so ruefully despises, lest she be exiled to Mars, the little, red, uninhabited planet. She would be the only resident there, and no rainbow to earn her ire.

It was the second morning after the massacre, and when she was driving past America, always at war with itself, she saw the rainbow fluttering in the breeze beneath the stars and stripes, not arching in the sky where it should be.

Her eyes popped, her countenance morphed into a witch's and in a huff she found her technology. Like a little bluebird, she landed on to the Twitter, as her colour changed from indigo to orange, to yellow, to mauve, to red, to magenta, to green with envy. She was livid.

"I am the most colourful of them all, the prettiest in the land, and there it was in my own backyard, looking so lovely and gay, competing with me. Utter disrespect! I represent the laws of the land, and this is one colourful piece of effrontery I won't put up with. Fire bun! " she tweeted.

And the replies came back in a flurry. The lovers of the rainbow, in solidarity with one another, did not spare the legal luminary, scolding her insensitivity and pouring shame upon her ignorance.

Even America responded with exclamation marks, and the commander-in-chief, the greatest lover of the rainbow, too, hissed and tweeted, "Wha gwaan Jamaica, what's wrong with that QC woman?"

The verbal blows that the hater received knocked her way into the sky where happy little bluebirds fly. Even the colours of the rainbow were flutteringly mad. And the more the breeze blew the more they danced and flapped.

But Hatred was not alone. To her rescue came the Church, who for years been claiming the rainbow was stolen from them. The Lord gave it to them after the Great Flood. There shall be fire next. And they want it back.

Until then Hatred is munching on her pie, sighing and seething between, wondering what the hell did she do, for Hell hath no fury like the lovers of a rainbow scorned.