The storm was brewing. The seagulls that flew against the dark coal sky appeared as contrasting white blurs, filling the sky with even more abstractness, almost appearing as if it were all a dream. Awful gusts whacked against thin trees and slammed against brick homes and gushing waves crashed against flooding shores and small storefronts. How much longer would the sky cry? How much longer would it yell and roar? Why was it so angry?
Or was it hurt? Or lonely? Or sad? Was it feeling like me as I watch it commence in my flooded doorway? The panic I felt when the first wave washed in through the weak door, why was I crying?
“Wipe your eyes,” she said. “Go get some sleep too.”
I did as she said and when the cascading sea drained, a bright, sunny day reflected out of my glassy eyes. It was nice outside, but she was right, I needed sleep. But, the storm was only brewing.
A dark heap of material lay