The
day before it happened I saw a cloud skirting across the sky. So incredibly
low, so thin, like a wrinkle in some orange fabric. No, a wrinkle isn’t right,
more like a tear. A hole in which a deep black was leaking onto that
orange fabric. Just a crack on the face of something outside the realm of being
understood.
Looking back, I should have seen the
churning blacks and purples within that cloud, that scratch in the sky. I
should have looked harder, should’ve seen.
At that moment, as I pulled up onto the driveway, I should not have gone
inside to escape the summer heat. I should not have said hi to my gentle mother
and curious little brother. I should not have walked through my living room and
asked my dad how work was going. I should have run.