|
A single drop of rain falls from the black blistering clouds above. The young girl below the raindrop pouts when she looks skyward, picking up her playtoys and quickly scampering into the house as another drop falls... and another. Soon the orcastra of heaven plays loud and obviously proud of it's damp music. Heavy drops landing with a splash or a sploosh, depending on where it hits as the deep droon of thunder follows the procusion. Windows close themselves, blocking out the sound and those who try to shut it out fail as another rumble rolls out, ravishing the reddening leaves of trees across the land. The young girl props her beautiful blonde doll up on a deeply colored rug infront of a gentle flame in an old brick fireplace while nibbeling at a freshly made oatmeal cookie. She stares out the rainwashed window, unable to make out the outside world.
She starts, backing up on the soft rug knocking her kelly into the fire, her eyes wide. Wind rushs into the newly broken window all too happily knocked in by the once glorious tree outside. She runs upstairs to find her mother as the chaos-searching wind flings itself into all the corrners of the room to break and knock things over. The drums of nature play again, the procussion of rain impaled the sound louder then ever and now joined by the ever proud flute of destruction. They embrace tightly and dance in a circle, spinning fast and faster and letting others join in like a small red toy wagon, a rose garden, ripped boughs from frees and onces laundry that was once out to dry. And, oh how they danced their dreamy dance, a chours of screaming following their wake, but still they go around and 'round then around again, picking up speed. Water flows freely from the nearby river and raises itself onto the sidewalks and driveways to see what everybody was up to, like a noisy neighbot. They couldn't find the little girl so the searched until they were knocking at their front door. But there was no responce, so the water slipped inside and went about drenching the once flickering flame that had taken to the carpet. A melted Childs toy lays burnt black and now floating in revoltenly muddy flood water.
But the orchastras dance still continued without that little girl. Shingles of the roofs of houses now joining as well as the BMW from the rich guy down the street. Chaos, destruction, there was no bravo or encore, just like the way it's always been. The dancers and plays grew wearry and slowed their steady speed until they retired to a stop. The echos of the rain last for weeks later, then settle back down at last beyond the ruined river banks. The young girl goes back outside without her doll or her smile. she stands in a yard full of debree much like the garbage after a hockey game left on the stadium benchs, except this was not a wanted game. The girls mother had decided to stay and play with the band, as did many others. You can see their worn out bodies everywhere. They couldn't get the dance quite right.
This is when never becomes a promise you get to lie about. The girl dipped her hand into a puddle and picks up a ladies dress and carefully puts it on. Her small frame drowned in it. She walked slightly slouched, eyes gloomy contrasting against the bright blue sky, beaming down their innocent rays at her. But it is the same why which can see a different light and dance to the tune which took her own song away that one night.
 playwithfire · Tue Aug 07, 2007 @ 04:34am · 1 Comments |
