Writing is great
It sure is.
I wrote this today.
Some people have said that it is good.
I dunno. I know I enjoyed writing it. Maybe you'll like reading it.
The whole world is muted before this kind of rain.
When it's almost ready to come down heavy and thick, washing away rock and finishing the job it started thousands of years ago: shaping the land, the shape of the earth according to the will of the sky. This rain will drum against the ground, soften the soil, and slide down valleys quickly, to strike a stream at the bottom. This kind of rain plummets from a pearl sky with no wind, tumbles down a hillside, and disappears, a part of the stream all the rain is moving towards.
But right now, the air is empty and cold.
Eric steps high and pulls on a tall rock near the crest of the hill. He is high above the valley, now, looking down.
Dressed in a thin polyester windbreaker, black jeans, and worn leather hiking boots, his brown hair shifts slightly from the slow breeze. His eyes move to his shoes, and then down the rocky, jagged hillside to the bottom.
The grass is grown thick and green there, and several grey, sharply cut rocks dot the stretch of deep emerald.
"The creek," Eric's voice is almost quizzical, "... this... must be it."
Looking at the sky, he sighs, pulls the hood of his jacket over his head, and starts to walk down the valley.
The clouds move in an almost imperceptible way. White and blue and gray, the sky is filled with soft lines that separate the great shapes. The only evidence of movement lies in the subtle shifts of these lines. With focus, it is possible to distinguish each cloud from another, but they are all pushed together, moving in the same direction. It is easy to lose oneself in the endless gray.
Eric's soles scrape against the bare rock patches along the hillside as he makes his way down. His arms are away from his sides, balancing him as he descends, grabbing rock outcropping to slow his momentum. Eric moves his eyes from his path and looks to the other side of the valley. Steeper and far less rocky, the terrain contours. Grass is sparse and the rock is almost black. There are great slides in the earth that move from crest to creekbed. Rainwater strikes the dark rock and doesn't splinter into droplets, but finds its way down the sheer slope into the troughs, plunging down into the valley going faster and faster, until it collides with the red rock at the center of the creek.
Eric's foot shoots out from beneath him. Both feet slide back. His body moves forward. The hill is steep here. He turns his shoulder to the ground. Something cracks. He rolls over and forward. The clouds are moving, have moved. The rock claws his back. His legs are spinning forward ahead of him. They are in front of and past the boulder. Eric can see the small imperfections drawn by rain in the boulder. His forehead is the first thing to hit.
----------
"I got you!"
"You got my shirt!"
"I got YOU!"
Green and grey rush by, part of the wind.
"You can't get me!"
"Slow down!"
"You can't get me!"
Green and gray go forever. There is no sky.
"You w-"
"No!"
Red turns end over end down and into the green and gray.
"It hurts."
"I told you to slow down!"
"Make it stop. Please, make it stop."
The rock is red and the hills start to shine. The air is moving.
"Don't leave."
"I'm scared. I have to get someone!"
"Please, don't leave me."
There's a small boy on a red rock. He is alone. Water rises to his chest.
"I can't see. I can't see. Don't leave."
----------
Eric opens his eyes. There is blood on the boulder in front of him. Everything is dim and dark. His hands shake as he tries to grab hold of something solid. His knees slide toward his chest and he rises slightly before his legs give and he falls to his back. The rock beneath him finds bone between his shoulder blades. Eric twists on the valley floor, moaning. Blood from his head begins to well in his eyes. Tiny convulsions shake him as he exhales in short breaths. Eric sobs into the open air, the crests of the valley barely visible through blood and tears. His finger dig deep into the soil as the whimpers turn to wailing. His voice echoes from wall to wall of the hollow and his hands continue to feverishly claw the ground.
His cries turn ragged and raspy and his voice becomes a harsh whisper.
"Oh God. Oh God. I left. I left. I'm sorry."
Eric strained his voice, repeating the words, until only breath escaped his moving lips.
Cold water tapped Eric's face. His mouth, open, went still. Drops of icy liquid fell onto his hands, his neck, his nose, his pants, his shirt. The rain collected in his eyes. Eric ran his fingers over his eyes. They stayed clear.
Above, a single dark cloud rested amidst the rest, distorting the sky with the rain that fell from it. It was sharp, with dark lines that ran through it and defined every curve, every angle of the cloud's shape. The rain that poured from it was thick, heavy, and frigid. It fell to the earth and thrummed against it, pounding out a nimbus symphony.
Eric's eyes were fixed upon it. The water hit his face and droplets ran to his eyes, but the cloud was bold and striking among the white-gray others.
A small rivulet ran across and under Eric's fingers while he lay there. Turning his face to see, he lifted his fingers slightly, one-by-one, and watched the small, strong stream move with his hand.
Eric sat up and set his hands behind him. The water flowed from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers. He bent his knees and slid his feet toward his body. The rain pooled in the folds of his jacket. With a sharp intake of breath, he pushed his hands to the ground, stiffened his legs, and rose to his feet.
The blood on the rock had been washed away. Eric held out his hand and moved it to where he had struck the boulder. His hand traced a line in the rock to the top of it.
The rain saturated everything. The grass bent beneath the weight of it, laying flat, a shining, verdant carpet . The rocks now had a flickering sheen.
Eric was still. He smiled.
"I'm not scared anymore."
I wrote this today.
Some people have said that it is good.
I dunno. I know I enjoyed writing it. Maybe you'll like reading it.
The whole world is muted before this kind of rain.
When it's almost ready to come down heavy and thick, washing away rock and finishing the job it started thousands of years ago: shaping the land, the shape of the earth according to the will of the sky. This rain will drum against the ground, soften the soil, and slide down valleys quickly, to strike a stream at the bottom. This kind of rain plummets from a pearl sky with no wind, tumbles down a hillside, and disappears, a part of the stream all the rain is moving towards.
But right now, the air is empty and cold.
Eric steps high and pulls on a tall rock near the crest of the hill. He is high above the valley, now, looking down.
Dressed in a thin polyester windbreaker, black jeans, and worn leather hiking boots, his brown hair shifts slightly from the slow breeze. His eyes move to his shoes, and then down the rocky, jagged hillside to the bottom.
The grass is grown thick and green there, and several grey, sharply cut rocks dot the stretch of deep emerald.
"The creek," Eric's voice is almost quizzical, "... this... must be it."
Looking at the sky, he sighs, pulls the hood of his jacket over his head, and starts to walk down the valley.
The clouds move in an almost imperceptible way. White and blue and gray, the sky is filled with soft lines that separate the great shapes. The only evidence of movement lies in the subtle shifts of these lines. With focus, it is possible to distinguish each cloud from another, but they are all pushed together, moving in the same direction. It is easy to lose oneself in the endless gray.
Eric's soles scrape against the bare rock patches along the hillside as he makes his way down. His arms are away from his sides, balancing him as he descends, grabbing rock outcropping to slow his momentum. Eric moves his eyes from his path and looks to the other side of the valley. Steeper and far less rocky, the terrain contours. Grass is sparse and the rock is almost black. There are great slides in the earth that move from crest to creekbed. Rainwater strikes the dark rock and doesn't splinter into droplets, but finds its way down the sheer slope into the troughs, plunging down into the valley going faster and faster, until it collides with the red rock at the center of the creek.
Eric's foot shoots out from beneath him. Both feet slide back. His body moves forward. The hill is steep here. He turns his shoulder to the ground. Something cracks. He rolls over and forward. The clouds are moving, have moved. The rock claws his back. His legs are spinning forward ahead of him. They are in front of and past the boulder. Eric can see the small imperfections drawn by rain in the boulder. His forehead is the first thing to hit.
----------
"I got you!"
"You got my shirt!"
"I got YOU!"
Green and grey rush by, part of the wind.
"You can't get me!"
"Slow down!"
"You can't get me!"
Green and gray go forever. There is no sky.
"You w-"
"No!"
Red turns end over end down and into the green and gray.
"It hurts."
"I told you to slow down!"
"Make it stop. Please, make it stop."
The rock is red and the hills start to shine. The air is moving.
"Don't leave."
"I'm scared. I have to get someone!"
"Please, don't leave me."
There's a small boy on a red rock. He is alone. Water rises to his chest.
"I can't see. I can't see. Don't leave."
----------
Eric opens his eyes. There is blood on the boulder in front of him. Everything is dim and dark. His hands shake as he tries to grab hold of something solid. His knees slide toward his chest and he rises slightly before his legs give and he falls to his back. The rock beneath him finds bone between his shoulder blades. Eric twists on the valley floor, moaning. Blood from his head begins to well in his eyes. Tiny convulsions shake him as he exhales in short breaths. Eric sobs into the open air, the crests of the valley barely visible through blood and tears. His finger dig deep into the soil as the whimpers turn to wailing. His voice echoes from wall to wall of the hollow and his hands continue to feverishly claw the ground.
His cries turn ragged and raspy and his voice becomes a harsh whisper.
"Oh God. Oh God. I left. I left. I'm sorry."
Eric strained his voice, repeating the words, until only breath escaped his moving lips.
Cold water tapped Eric's face. His mouth, open, went still. Drops of icy liquid fell onto his hands, his neck, his nose, his pants, his shirt. The rain collected in his eyes. Eric ran his fingers over his eyes. They stayed clear.
Above, a single dark cloud rested amidst the rest, distorting the sky with the rain that fell from it. It was sharp, with dark lines that ran through it and defined every curve, every angle of the cloud's shape. The rain that poured from it was thick, heavy, and frigid. It fell to the earth and thrummed against it, pounding out a nimbus symphony.
Eric's eyes were fixed upon it. The water hit his face and droplets ran to his eyes, but the cloud was bold and striking among the white-gray others.
A small rivulet ran across and under Eric's fingers while he lay there. Turning his face to see, he lifted his fingers slightly, one-by-one, and watched the small, strong stream move with his hand.
Eric sat up and set his hands behind him. The water flowed from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers. He bent his knees and slid his feet toward his body. The rain pooled in the folds of his jacket. With a sharp intake of breath, he pushed his hands to the ground, stiffened his legs, and rose to his feet.
The blood on the rock had been washed away. Eric held out his hand and moved it to where he had struck the boulder. His hand traced a line in the rock to the top of it.
The rain saturated everything. The grass bent beneath the weight of it, laying flat, a shining, verdant carpet . The rocks now had a flickering sheen.
Eric was still. He smiled.
"I'm not scared anymore."