Ninety-Four : A Garden
The air here is heavy. It takes my breath and holds it up before me in little white clouds. I watch the clouds float and hope they wont carry on the breeze beyond the leaves and betray my hiding place. Here at the bottom of the garden it is dirty and damp and dark. But it is safe here, in this place usually reserved for spiders and beetles and mice. Glossy green leaves above me still drip with hour-old rain, soaking through my shirt. Sweet jasmine crawls through the branches. Theres a wall of green between me and the world on all sides. As long as I stay hidden I’ll be okay. I have to believe that. Any second of doubt, any brief moment of panic will be enough for a whimper to escape my lips, and then I won’t stand a chance. If I’m hidden, I’m safe. The stones beneath me bite into my hands and knees. I see their teethmarks on my skin. They sting, but they are nothing compared to what waits out in the light. And I can hear them coming. Moving through the house like bulls.
Tonight I wrote while listening to The Cave by Mumford & Sons. It’s been three weeks since I updated, and I’m sorry about that. I’ve got no real reasons. Just… I don’t know. I’ve been distracted. Caught up in things that barely exist. Anyway, enough of that. This piece was inspired by the sound of rain on the roof, and an inexplicable but nagging fear in my chest. It’s very short, I realise this. But for now it is the best I can do.
-
jbabyjewels241 liked this
-
acircadianrhythm posted this
