Leftover Resonance

May 12, 2018May 12, 2018 ~ Piece, of the Sky

The rain splattered on the leaves, rolling off them. The ground was saturated, the tree trunks soaked.

Alli lay on the bedspread and stared up at the ceiling. A familiar room. A solution to so many wants.

“I’ve wanted you to come over and watch a movie, for the longest time,” Jan was saying. Her voice seemed to come from far away, from deep underwater – from an ancient, sandy ocean floor.

“Do you ever think you could leave her?” Jan lit a cigarette. Menthol smoke filled the air. Alli breathed it in and glanced at Jan.

“Do you think you could ever love me again?” A voice in the darkness, “You don’t seem to love Ran.”

Alli did not trust herself to speak. Instead, she looked out the window, at the endless lines of water running down the oaks, in the summer night.

She didn’t say anything. She turned around and slowly re-crossed her arms. At this moment in time. At this juncture, at this crossroads, Alli wanted to reserve judgement.

Jan ground out the cigarette in the ashtray on the dresser and turned her full attention back to the TV. A nightingale sang, unperturbed by the downpour.

Songs

“No More Tears Left to Cry” – Ariana Grande

“Love on the Brain” – Rihanna

“November Rain” – Guns N’ Roses

“Purple Rain” – Prince

A Quick Respite with Honesty

May 1, 2018May 20, 2018 ~ Piece, of the Sky

Alli was driving down a country road. The windshield wipers squeaked as they flowed back and forth, haltingly across the glass. The road was wet; the sky was silver. Dark green trees, heavy with the foliage of summer, framed her view.

She got out and walked into a field with tall, flaxen grass. Drizzle splattered down, from the drifting clouds. Located in the center of the field, stood a dilapidated, shattered, gray farmhouse, sinking on its rotten foundation. Alli bounded up the crumbling steps, full of gaping holes in the planks.

The screen door hung to the side, swinging open, on its hinges. Alli crossed the faded porch and stole inside.

The rooms were gloomy. The unsaturated light of the day filtered in, through boarded-up windows. In the study on the first floor, Nealy sat behind the heavy, pockmarked mahogany desk, in her solarized jean jacket, staring down at the spoon in front of her, silently moving the dumb piece of metal around with her mind.

A second teenager sat beside her, also in a jean jacket, this one with a few patches and yawning, threadbare tears. This was Aro; she was spinning two plastic jacks around, above her hands.

They both looked up when Alli came in. “Oh, look who decided to show up?” Nealy asked, meeting her gaze.

“I brought the car,” Alli said, with a smirk.

The high schoolers piled into Alli’s car. They took off toward the highway, Alli revving the engine with a laugh.