Daydreamer's Tales

Weather

People usually correlate weather with emotions. Writers use the weather to portray atmosphere, or mood. But in life, the weather thing changes. Bad things happen to good people. Life isn't as sweet as the writers want you to think. That's what their jobs are. They create wonderful pieces of art, a way to distract their readers into making them think there is magic in our world.

Usually, there isn't.

There will be another funeral in which the sun is shining so bright and so warm that nobody will think anything's wrong, but there will be a little boy or girl, crying because a loved one has died. Somebody will get their heart broken for the first time and it will hurt, but the sun will still shine because the world doesn't revolve around that person. Somebody will fail their grades and lose everything they've worked for so damn hard and the sun will still shine because I-

Because that person lives in a fucked up world.

I remember losing my friends, my family, my job, and everything I had worked for. I remember holding a razor in my apartment, the one that was to be taken away from me in two weeks. I remember crying so hard I couldn't see anything. I remember the sun shining through the window, bathing me in warm sunlight. I remember pressing the cold metal against my wrist, the coolness of it against my skin. Then I remembered all the good things I had in my life.

My first kiss with a boy, in the rain, behind the school. Laughter with my old friends, jumping up and down on a puddle as my brother screamed at us to get inside. My 18th birthday, swimming in an indoor pool with everyone I loved in a small space because it had been raining so hard we couldn't go to a beach.

And I laughed. I laughed so hard, the blade kept shaking. I had to put it down because I didn't want to die anymore.

For the next year, I took care of myself and everything was nice. Life had its ups and downs, but I survived.

"It gets better," I think.

So there I was, two years after trying to kill myself. I had just finished talking to my therapist, and I was at a cafe, a small place near my new apartment that smelled of sweet pumpkin spice. Sitting beside the window, I could see heavy clouds forming, and I was thinking about how I was gonna get home without getting wet in the rain.

The chair in front of me was pulled and a man sat down. He had brown hair kept in a beanie, and wore a green jacket over a rock band T-shirt and jeans. His eyes were a warm shade of mocha.

He said some corny joke that nearly made me spit my coffee and asked my name.

I said, "My name in Rena. Nice to meet you."

We talked for hours, until the shop closed and the girl with pink colored hair working the cash register asked us to leave. It was pouring outside and I told him my apartment was only a few blocks away. He gave a devious look as he shrugged his jacket off and covered both of us and he counted.

"1...2...3...Run!."

The next thing I remember is waking up on my bed with an arm wrapped around my waist, the wind howling loudly and the rain crashing against the windows. I smiled, because life gets better when you rise from the bottom.

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Although this is a fictional story, I would like to dedicate this first chapter to those battling depression