SplashA Story by Ryan Patrick WalshLoss. Shame. Control. Freedom.
That was unbridled.
There was no reserve between the two of us. It was all there, every bit of it. It was so straightforward. What we shot went right through the both of us, so to the point. Right through, breaking the lodged arrow shafts we were wearing. We stopped hugging each other for dear life. We took a brief back step and everything spilled out toward our shoes. Shoes to walk in a direction opposite that of which our eyes once pierced deeply. The both of us, with our feet soon to be wet through the socks, walked away. That's when the rain brewed above. The drops of wetness to make our shoes heavier, bleeding it out and filling them of something else entirely. I would head toward the crop circles. The rain could never change now. The rumbling of the thunder in the distance could never cease. I could look into the clouds and know this. The cracking light touches the ground next to me and I notice you standing some distance away, tangled in the long grass with your head down. Turning towards a mud puddle I notice a face staring back at me. I step through it. The downpour stops dead for a moment. A light breaks the black cloud range and I shout past the deep humidity. “AND NOW THE WEATHER WILL CHANGE!” Trees turn their leaves back to face me in utter jubilee, only to watch as I walk back into another crop circle. The fleeting lights from above run under their dark bed covers. The forest watches a man walk in circles and they wonder where his mind went. The rays of light come and go as the storm moves with my path. That redundant episode could never change. And then, one day, it did. The Weather conjured a mist of many places for me to continue through. “Something new, something old,” The Weather mocked. I entered with an embrace. I walked inside a closed garage where the two dogs stare at me through their cages. Inside a bedroom where the man sits on the woman, both shouting. On the pavement that held a boy who tries to recover as he leaves the woman's car. Through a school's playground where those children are playing on the right side and the other children play somewhere else. Between the middle of two young boys laughing in broken unison. Amongst a classroom of students wearing paper bags over their heads, a few hiding their faces in the cup of their hands. Toward a clearing by the river that the girl runs through as a boy staggers behind her. Past the grass where some of the men stare into the distance outwards and other men stare into the distance inwards. I walked out onto the other side of the mist. The clouds were crumbling on the other side. Lightning crashed and I saw you illuminated in the tall grass, staring up into a pair of eyes I recognized. The lightning continued to strike. It repeatedly blasted from above like a machine gun. I looked down at the foot prints in the crop circles. I looked up at the trees with no leaves frowning in the distance. I looked forward to a pair of new shoes on your feet, already slightly worn. I looked back at my creased face in the reflection. I looked into a puddle in my eyes. I then found my feet. My bare, sun dried feet. I am jumping past the puddle that the man and woman stand by. it is unbridled again. © 2010 Ryan Patrick WalshReviews
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1 Review Added on June 13, 2010 Last Updated on June 13, 2010 AuthorRyan Patrick WalshWest Bloomfield, MIAbout20 year old student currently attending MSU for a degree in Media Arts and Technology (Film, Television, Camerawork, Screenwriting, etc). I've been consistently writing poetry and short stories since .. more..Writing
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