Crescent🌙

1

Hi

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Taking my earbuds out of my ears and placing it on my desk, the silence I thought I would hear was replaced with a vibration of water droplets which lightly fell onto the roof above me. Myself, was lying down and head sunk into the pillow creating a dip. Covers shoved to the side of the bed- there was a warmth inside the room- I was comfortable enough to lay bare on the bed. Only the clothes I had worn today, none of the many blankets which usually hug me.

On an evening like this, a melancholy sky and uncertain clouds, I would usually light a candle and make my way towards my desk  and write my trashed thoughts into my weather journal. But a fatigued feeling had lay amongst my bones, and my mind was chaotic like thunder.

I found that the longer I was slumped in bed, the further my body would sink into the mattress, and I thought that if I were to close my eyes and wait, I would be taken into another world. Or in short- I was too lazy to move.

Steps rushed upwards the stairs, a person was making their way towards my room. My mother- I presumed- as the sound of uneven flip flop steps across the wooden floor was easy to recognise. I waited in almost suspense as she hung behind my door and awaited a few seconds before she opened the door handle. She stood by the frame of the door.

"Marley needs feeding. I presume you haven't fed her today." she spoke.

I barley moved my head, eyes searching for her figure, half closed, tiredness evident in my eyebags.

"Yeah I'll do it." I answered, voice bare but soft.

She nodded and winked. I stared and sighed.

Once she left, and the sounds of her shoes were heard downstairs, I made an effort to clamber out of bed. Both hands by my side, and a grunt from my throat, I managed to get up slowly. Blood rushing to my head- curse my low blood pressure.

My baggy jeans hung low, barley touching my hips as I had bought it too large. A shoelace was wrapped around the top- a replacement for a belt. You couldn't see it though, as I wore an oversized hoodie that covered my figure.

I walked down the wooden stairs which curled along the wall and made its way to the kitchen. Every step I was making was loud and creaky, my dirty converse shoes leaving a trail of mud behind me. In the kitchen was my mother who was stirring something hot in a pot which sat firmly on the stove. The fires from the stove reached its arms up towards the lid, my mother turning down the heat, the fires slumped down again.

Then, walking through the conservatory, a sudden chill had swarmed its way into the room and settled on the furniture. My hand brushing the couch- damp and cold. Whilst listening to the sound of droplets dancing on the glass roof, and breathing in the fresh coolness of the room, I hadn't noticed the canvas behind me. Turning, I saw a picturesque scene of a field in the middle of a storm, and a small boy from such a distance it was impossible to make out any detail. Yet, the boy had such character as one of his hands was waving as if he'd spotted someone. The mood of the painting was similar to this day- dark tones of colours, and thick drizzling clouds. The main part that stuck out of the painting ,though, was the purple lightning bolt which struck the painting in half.

Gaze adverting from the canvas, I opened the glass door out into the garden. Fortunately it was not much cooler outside, though the rain would soon find its way into my hoodie.

You could say the garden was overgrown, messy or even an eye sore- but in my own wonderful eyes it was a place of history where the plants had spent decades of growing and starting families and making friends with weeds and finding soulmates with flowers. To me, the garden was life.