my big brother always told me that before the wars: before the famine, before the plagues, before the end; there was rain. there was beauty and weather and a million, million reasons to live. there is none of that now. only fire and death and decay and a single reason to keep going. we live to survive and we survive just so we can see the endlessly scorching sun as it was yesterday and the day before and for every day from now until the end of time. they told me i would one day see the rays of gold choked by darkness, and that the skys would crack under the weight of the cruel burning tyrants oppression.
i dont even remember his face.
mother told me that i would grow up to be just like father. that i would work the fields and sow the crops that never actually grow because they need something called water. i dont know what that is. ive never seen it. i dont know it. theres no one in the world id rather be than my mother.
i dont even remember her face.
father used to beat us. me and brother, and mom, and the dog. all of us fell under his iron fist and the cruel stench of spirits that left no room for love. he hated us almost as much as he hated himself.
i can remember his face.
i see it clearly.
every night.
each day.
unhappy.
never smiling.
i guess my brother was right and that before it all there was beauty and good and more than the heat. the salty tears on my face are more than enough reason. perhaps there once was rain.
