Tonight, I am watching the ocean outside my open window as a powerful storm descends on it. Through gaping, bright purple holes in the darkness and a nest five stories above the sand, I can see deep into the fog hanging over the Atlantic.
The rain is louder than the thunder, and the thunder louder than the waves, tall as treetops crashing against the shore. In the holes I can see movement, inhuman movement, and it is the movement that dances to the cymbals of the sea and the drumroll of the rain, dances in these electric pits, bored deep into the night.
And that is all.
I see. I hear. When I am good the storm will kiss my face, pressed like a parched prisoner's against the metal screen. When the wind shifts, my cheeks, surrounded by walls, lose the color of the storm. But downstairs is a door.
Wish me luck!
Tonight.
Started by
ticklemyiguana
, Dec 23 2015 10:30 PM
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