even the world holds its breath

describable

It is 10:37 at night on March 28, 2016. I sit on my damp roof, nudging the leaves with my freezing purple toes. The light from my room attracts a moth, it flutters to the bulb frantically, not realizing the one thing it needs most is the thing hurts the most. It seems that every creature, significant or insignificant, is drawn to what causes pain. The light behind me illuminates my paper just enough so that I can see the nonsense I am writing. I bask in the mixture of crickets calling to each other and the music coming from my own crappy speakers. I suppose I play music to mask the silence of the night, as I know by too much experience that the quiet is unbearably loud, my doubts and fears yelling obscenities in my head. I have long since concluded that I use music as an escape from myself, an unhealthy habit, as I no longer face the demons inside me; instead I cower away. I listen to the lyrics of the song, pretending to relate, pretending that I am not really alone in my own little world. The sky is clouded, preventing the moon from revealing its breathtaking beauty to me. There are no gusts of wind, no slight breeze in the air. There is only stillness, as if the world is holding its breath, waiting for another eager child to attempt to save it. It's beautiful, peaceful, and experiencing it is a nice break from the hectic hell humans call life. A train blows its horn in the distance, its spinning wheels travel further and further away from me. Oh, how lovely it would be to be swept up by that train and carried to a magical place where everyone is full of love and joy. But no train is sweeping me away. So here on my roof I will stay, writing out my fantasies instead of living them.

Author's Note

this is my first post, I am just trying to find an outlet.

Reviews

[Hannah]

This is a very thoughtful-feeling story, and somewhat hopeful. It feels a little unfinished, but I bet you could smooth it out if you wanted.