Nineteen Ninety-Seven

Nineteen Ninety-Seven draft

The blossoming shell of a snail lay silently on the baron floor, desperately clinging to the ground which shows neither compassion nor mercy to the insignificant creature. A flash of a vibrant gold paced across the sky alerting those below that the night was not yet over. As quick as it came, it was gone. In it's place, the low groan of thunder echoed through the deserted cobble streets and into the rooms of frightened children and parents alike. Asserting it's dominance, the rain continued to pour draining the colour from the freshly tarmacced streets and replacing it with it's own dank grey. Amongst the grey, a vibrant spec of emerald clung on through the relentless down pour. The shell, decorated in greens that matched the shrubbery in the tropics, remained stationary and content whilst shards of water desperately tried to break it. As if ignited, the empty sky flashed to life with the skeletal fingers of lightening. Once again, the rumble of thunder struck fear into even the coldest of hearts.

The assertive rain continued to pound against the broken Earth below. It's psychopathic tendencies remain at a loss in this situation for it's objective cannot be completed. It's aim to wash away life from the beaten streets is useless for still, a shell lies undefeated amongst the sea of grey surrounding it. With defeat inside it's watery heart, the onslaught of water becomes less frequent. It's salty scent becoming less vigorous. It's ensemble of sound becoming as insignificant as an animal's cries in captivity.

From beneath the safety of it's shell, a small eye curiously peered out into the night, follow by another eye and the top of a head. A splash of water against it's temple causes it to flinch slightly. Alas, the refusal to give in to the oppression of the greater force leads one to become stronger - not physically of course but mentally. The glint of moonlight signalled midnight. It's pale light lit a path of which the shell, now carried on the small creatures back, followed into the night. When the future seemed brighter, the world comes crashing down around it as an uncaring boot cracks the foundations of it's existence. The boot connected to the creature of no more importance than the snail leading to the snails demise.

A victorious rain once more unleashed it's wrath upon the world of the living. It's claws scratched against windows and forced matter of all size down the isolated streets in a frenzy. On the sidewalk in a distilled sea of water, a cracked shell lay in pieces. Within the shell lay a body. The type of body you only hear about after death. In death, it was more important than when it was living. A broken and bruised body lay for the remainder of the hour before the strength of the night washed it away.

***

The cascade of rain trickled against the motionless blockade of glass. From within, a boy no older than a midteen stared out into the night, an heir of wisdom in his red eyes. The vibrations of the thunder rippled through his tattered room. The thunder was welcomed with open arms for it's overwhelming sound was a reminder of what was real. For at this moment, the only thing that he could be sure were real was that it was raining, that the thunder was screaming into the night and that he was crying. The syphony of both rain and the thunder filled his empty heart with the satisfaction that words could not. In a way, the boy was grateful for the loud noises. It was a distraction from reality and with silence, the demons could take control, whispering awful things inside his head.

From within the barrier of the window, lay a room decorated in a thick coat of grey paint. Not that it mattered for the walls were plastered with posters and newspaper articles but also of the scribbles of a boy who was not quite in the right place upon the time of said drawing. Opposite the window lay a bed. The sheets lay strew across the floor; kicked off the bed during the night under the influence of the nightmares. A mahogany wardrobe lay vandalized with words and etchings. Within it lay piles of clothes stacked neatly according to popularity. The order of each pile, from top to bottom, consisted of clothes worn most frequently to those not at all. For example, at the top of the pile lay a simple black and white logo top completed with a pair of skinny-fit jeans and undergarments whereas at the bottom of the pile lay a pair of coloured shorts with a tattered vest.