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Description
Rain was pounding on the rusty shingles of the roof, creating a slight ‘ping’ as every tear from the heavens was released. Small streams of cool water slipped through the ceiling and was captured in a small gray bucket.
Glass was smashed on the rough and dented concret floor, sticking up in almost a lethal way, creating an unwelcoming aurora. Half a dresser sat in a very dim corner, neglected by it’s owner. The dresser had wounds all along the top and side- and the scratches did not resemble an animal.
A teenager with hair as black as the night sky above and intense blue eyes was in a corner of the shack, growling and whimpering softly.
His dusty and ragged hoodie was teetering off the back of his head as his head was sideways, looking longingly into the distance with dull eyes. In a his left hand, he was clutching a picture with white knuckles and in his right held a empty bottle. Tears cruised down his face, like water running flowing freely into a powerful river. The veins that poisoned his body pulsed rapidly up his arms, neck and temple.
Suddenly, as if an explosion went off behind him, he leaped to his feet, threw the bottle against the wall, where it shattered and collapsed to the ground with the rest of the residue from previous drinks. He yelled and slammed his head into the wall, behind him, shaking the dust off his hoodie as he did so. The neglected dresser was picked up and thrown into the graffitied wall, where it too fractured into a million peices. Hands, corse and bloodied, pulled on his black hair, and he panted heavily. His lips, dry and peeling, barely moved as his hyperventilated, bawling and yelling for his loss.
In a single jagged movement, he seemed to throw something imaginary off his shoulders, in a manner that Atlas would if he threw down the world, and ran into the dark and twisted world.
For a second he paused, clawing at his black hoodie, he threw it into the mud and continued to run even farther into the overcast sky.
Out of breath, he opened his bare arms, an embrace to the murky heavens, that the atmosphere dismissed.
He yelled with a shaking fist about exposing himself and neither accepted or rejected; just ignored.
With his face up, his salty tears and the world’s own slid across his face, cleaning the blood and grime that had sunk deep into his pores.
He was digging his nails deep into his snow-white skin when his feet refused to shift and his eyelids dropped over his far-from-innocent eyes.
Time stopped with an eerie silence as he limply collapsed on the ground as the bottle did before him, still clenching the picture in his hand. The photograph was vaguely recognizable, for it use to hold a couple supporting a dark-haired, blue-eyed baby.
Even with him unconscious on the ground, he slumped on the ground in a running position, with his hair slicked back as if the wind was pushing it behind him.
Then world resumed itself with the sound of the rain pouring down, and the slight ‘ping’ sound that came with it when it hit the shingled roof top.