Ground Clouds

Hey everyone,

I’m going to do my utmost to write a post every day for April which ought to be no problem during this worldwide pandemic. This is a little short story I wrote several years ago, to get it kick-started, a little cheat. I’ll make up for it, that and the five posts previous.

Some background. Lots of my work is not based around my life, but this was. For those of us who keep getting thrown away; you are not rubbish, you are valuable, you are worthy of love. Just because someone says they see you and love you does NOT mean they are telling you the truth. Real love isn’t fickle, real love doesn’t change it’s mind, and real love loves all of you. This is hard to hear, but they are stroking their own ego. You are being used. Move on, heart. You are a person, you matter, you deserve love and to love in return. No one has the right to invalidate you. Keep going, be strong. Someday, maybe someone will love you for you. Someday, maybe someone will love me for me too. Life is lovely, try not to let someone steal your smile, your laughter, or your joy. It is easier said than done but you deserve more than to feel like a ghost roaming the world hiding behind a smile. I say this for my benefit too. Never look back, your love is in front of you, not behind. Don’t falter; give yourself the chance, not them. They don’t deserve it.

And you voyeurs? I played with the details quite significantly on this and I have a loooooonnnng history of useless bastards behind me so guess away 🙂 Why do people always try to climb into your life?

Ground Clouds

The world is shelled in grey clouds, peppered with crows swirling high. The forest canopy weeps leaves of orange, yellow, ochre and brown onto trails carved by nameless no ones before; the river mutters ghosts of their voices as it rushes by. It is so silent here, so quiet. She remembers the snow-globe she had as a child, its minuscule figurines wrapped in crimson robes and each other. For hours, she would watch light change through its sphere, play with its shadows, its gravity, create stories. Perhaps, like them, she is trapped, living in static, then turned, shaken upside down, and all of this while some God-child is entertained by leaves and rain confetti-falling, oblivious to the damage they’ve done. They walk on, mud squelching beneath their boots. His little black dog darts between the chasm of their bodies, her red hair and his red jacket. 

“I don’t love you anymore,” he says.

“It’s okay,” though those four words make it more difficult to breathe. “Okay,” she says. Again. To herself. She didn’t need to hear them today. 

His dog disappears over the stone bridge, she chases after it and stops halfway across. The edge lures her, whispers to her. She peers over and gazes into the deep current, to the ghost voices, away from this world. She wonders about the bridge giving way – pop! The water devours her, her lungs fill with liquid fire, she hits her head, then dead. She smiles. He is beside her now, weary, shoulders curved with burdens. Her smile widens, like a skull. He doesn’t understand. Oblivion beckons. 

She shakes it off, along with her coat. Despite it all – cold, pain, wind, rain, ridicule – she breathes in every needle of it, savours it. She cannot stop and will not ever stop. She cannot stop smiling. He shuffles his feet, looks around at everything but her, checks behind him, but no one is coming. She wants to hug him, kiss his cold cheeks, give him what little strength she has left. Instead, she raises her hands to the sky, cups a small portion of it between her hands. He picks up her coat and pushes it into her stomach.

“You will catch a cold.” 

“Though I can’t catch a break,” she laughs at her own joke, it gurgles through her. How beautiful he is! And unique! He reddens, rubs his dark hair. She grabs her coat and puts it on quickly, before someone arrives. She had never wanted to embarrass him. 

“You need to stop this.”

“Then you shouldn’t have started it,” she snapped. 

“Don’t be so childish.”

“Then don’t be so heartless.”

They walk on. The dog bursts through a thicket snapping at twigs, sees them, and bullet-runs towards them, weaves between their legs. 

“No one can control love,” she grits through teeth. “Is there someone else?” 

“No”

“Really?” She sees the lie sitting on his face, in his eyes hung with clouds. “I thought as much.” There isn’t enough air and she takes a deep lungful of breath. “I went through life thinking you couldn’t exist, but you do.” Silence. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ve known too much sadness, like you.” She feels the void come close.

“I know.” As he drifts further away. 

“I don’t think you do,” and, for one moment, it’s back, vacuuming. “I’m made from the same materials as you.”

He nods his head, and happiness comes back to her in waves, oxygen-rich. Sometimes, words tumble from his mouth, yet today he barely speaks. He wants to be alone, she knows. But could she steal him? Lead him down another path through the trees? 

“No one sees you like I do,” he says. 

She feels tiny then, still not enough. “I know. Let’s go home. There’s a storm coming.” She tasted it, smelled it. It filled her brain. 

He turns.

“I see you too,” she says to his back as she watches him leave her.