Pouring

by Skye Haerrington

Rain falls on the blades of green grass, sharp like the
dagger on a suicidal arm. Drip. Drop. It falls around me
like so many tears. Cold, unfeeling, pure drops of aquamarine
strike upon the ground with a strangely reassuring beat
as I set out to do what I lacked the courage for prior to
now. Drip. Drop. Washing over me like a tidal wave. It
cannot clear away the eons of dirt and grime this world
has left on my short life. Drip. Falling by the bucketfull.
Drop. Burning my skin like the embers of a roaring fire.
Strange how it feels so different from your expectations.
Rhythmically pounding, drip drop, drip drop, slowly
driving the sanity from you. Drip drop. Drip drop.
The speed increases as the pain slashes through your
physical being. The liquids, metallic and saline, meet
below you and are diluted by the now pouring rain. You don't
feel anything anymore, no, there is nothing left to feel.
The maddening droplets drove the pain away as it had
your sanity. And, again, it becomes all-consuming. Its
becoming harder to think, harder to breathe, harder to
live. Drip, drop, the flow of liquid slows, drip, and then
you fear. You fear what you have just done. Drop. You fear
what you have done in years before. And then, as the bright
sun after the mighty storm, the fear and the pain have
been pulled away. You no longer feel a thing, save your
relief and the wind passing through your intangible
form. Chains to the corporeal have been severed and
now, after years of pain and captivity, you are free.

Home ~ Back to Fiction