W(ea)thering Heights

Good.

I am always asleep. Even when awake, I find myself asleep. Not quite dead, not feeling quite alive. Stuck in the eternal cyclismo of day to day life. Floating from tisk to task. Or task to tisk, depending on the day. But as I awoke to a thick dark sky, I realized that there would be no tisking or tasking, or anything of the sort. Not today.

Peering between the curtains, the sky was not only thick and dark, but heavy too. Such strange words to describe the weather. Perhaps the odd wording was due to my recent poetic streak. Common sense, on the other hand, suggested that it was just the coffee talking. The pure energy sloshing around in a dark cup that I adored, and today, I was full of it. My blood felt like it was practically thrumming, which was not the best sign for someone who never quite outgrew their sickly child phase. Thrumming blood could definitely be a bad thing. Nonetheless, even if I did frequent a hospital, it most certainly wasn't due to a blood disorder. No, I didn't see doctors anymore, I saw shrinks.

Speaking of shrinks, the clouds overhead didn't seem to be getting any smaller, so shrinking was out of the question. In fact, they looked as if they were gathering above, poised to reign their fury down on the earth. Good.

Thunder bloomed in the distance, climbing over trees and ricocheting down the ravine. If the stories were anything to believe, then nothing good happened in that ravine. Though I couldn't remember who had told them. I had no neighbors. I had no friends.

The next of the rumbling, following in its echo, told me the storm was nearing closer. Good.

It wasn't long before the entire house was filled with the metallic scent of fresh rain, and sounded like an amplified version of a noisy old washing machine. To add to the noise, every couple of seconds, a blinding flash of light would spring through the window, only to leave seconds later, without a trace. Sometimes it was so bright that I could see the individual raindrops falling from the blackened sky. Other times, there was barely a flash of light to even register as a bolt of lightening. But those small strikes of lightning were rare in a storm like this. A storm like this, belonged in the book. This was a storm to record. A storm that could never be mistaken for a tisk or a task. No, this rain was a Rain of Titans, said the coffee.

Fat drops of sky scurried in through the windows. I never closed them, ever, and I had the water damage to prove it. But as this Titan Rain sieged the house, I had no desire to fix it. Here in this lonely house, I welcomed rain as a friend. The kind of friend who never announced that they were coming, but simply, barged in anyway. I never had many friends. Good.

And so, as water flooded in through the upended windows, I opened the door. It was both deliciously hot and frigidly cold at the same time. The summer heat and the drop in air pressure made my nerves sing. I wasn't sleeping. It wasn't the coffee. Good.

I titled my head back and felt the drops of rain strike my face and roll down my neck. And yet, the storm raged on, calling to me. Water pooling at my feet, gently pulling away from the house. A storm of this size was kind for not ripping my house to shreds, but at that moment, I could care less if it did.

I stood in the rain until it no longer felt like rain. In fact, it reminded me of something thicker, like cold coffee or stagnant blood, gushing down the ravine and trickling across my eyelids.

The storm was here for me and I had no urge to deny it. Letting loose a scream worthy enough to scare away any well-to-do tisk-tasker, I shouted along with the Thunder and laughed in time to the Lightning as I ran to the side of the ravine. I was not dead, I was not asleep. 'I was alive' I thought, throwing myself over the watery edge.

Let the storm come for me. Let it destroy everything. Let it rip everything apart. Let it rain. Let it pour.

Wash away until there is nothing left. For if there was nothing but the rain, then it would be ...

good.