Sway

Photo by Stiller Beobachter

He died in a forest, surrounded by trees. His body, now still of it's own accord, swung lightly. A rustling breeze masked leather creaking on branch, so that not even the birds back from a quick flight could guess yet what was lost.

Not hours before the choking and swelling, the boy's problems loomed large. His parents threatened public humiliation, teachers talked of expulsion. His friends, all assholes, just laughed. Like they didn't play a part.

So disappearing had been better. A long run in the woods, then a walk, hours or maybe a day gone, lost. Near the trees he could be forgotten and could try forgetting and it hadn't been too much.

But unreturned home there'd been a commotion. What felt scary now turned icy terrifying when the dogs and search party made it clear just how much trouble he was in.

No choice but to pull back, watch the searchers, hide from the seekers. To go back now wasn't an option. All eyes would be on him, so much more than before.

He was sorry it had all happened. He wished he could take it back. But no apology—to his parents, group, or school—was going to fix this, things would never be the same. He'd never seen this kind of shit storm, couldn't imagine it's girth. Instead, he felt deeply the panic it rained down: his own, his mother's, the "community's". The belt was close, emotions too big. He'd show them. Eat my shit, fuckers. In your face, world. 

And with that he let the branches and trees and breeze take him away.

Tonight's monsoon

It rained all night.

The leaking from your eyes kind,

the pounding kind.

The kind that makes you fight.  

Unlike a clean rain that clears the air, unlike a fog of mist that quenches thirst,

a long rains wears you down and wears you out and saturates the ground

until it’s done absorbing, done understanding, and can’t help but flood out.

When it rains this much, it's hard to concentrate.

It feels like the world might drown,

that there's no room for breath,

that you can't escape the room.

What, under normal circumstances, can be lightened,

takes its heaviest form and falls uncontrollably,

a torrent of insults,

tit for tat

pitter patter and just like that,

the storm strengthens.

The bile rises in your throat and breaches your lips before you can think,

before it makes sense to say

before it leaves a mark.

You spit like a cornered snake and all you can think

is that

it must stop raining,

it has to stop raining,

this leak needs plugging

Or, the soggy mess left behind will stagnate and mold,

you will rot from the inside out and

the damage will be done.

When it rains all night it’s best to cover up

take cover under covers

hide out in small places

find rooms with no windows

until it’s safe to come out.