Sabboth

840 107 11
                                    

"I think there is something to be feared in the dark, not the dark itself but the imagination, the possibility of seeing something there you cannot see in the day that is able to be seen in its blackness and empty where no thing should be."

This part of the story happens on the seventh day, when gods rests.

His eyes are closed.

and you know it in the way the earth dims, the sounds slow, and the colour filters in ash and grey. The colour the smoke in the city,

He promises to get you your favourite cereal since it's run out, the suns set and the cabinets empty. The cat won't lay still underneath your fingers they're too cold and buzzing.

there are sirens in the distance knowing if you leave you can never come back, there's a blue bible in your hand and a cat that isn't your following your steps and down the path isn't as dark as it should be there's too much commotion too many people here for this time of night

a breath

something burns cold beneath the stomach when you watch the twin trees, bending in towards each other, kissing branches and bearing strange fruit.

Standing behind the blacked greens of the back paths that were once sunlit, casting shadows where no one can see.

You watch the men pick the fruit from the tree, his body drops near the now falling leaves.

and you think,

Gods eyes must've been closed because
If he saw he would've stopped it and
If he was awake this wouldn't have happened
If his eyes would just open once

Let his eyes open once.

you learn that
you aren't a child after this,

Blue and red don't look nice against any dark sky.

You can't tell what's heaven or hell when the sun sets

or what's good or bad when gods at rest

and when your fathers voice twists between death.
Choking out the sound of his breaths–

His breath.

His breath,

smelled like onions and tuna fish that morning after eating his world famous sandwiches for breakfast. And he smiled at you with black pepper in his teeth, and fishy lips that threatened to peck your rounding cheeks. The smell stunk like sour feet, but you laughed, and laughed more than anyone ever laughed on this earth because him.

That shining blue lake and that pale blue home, and that orange fat cat and that garden that was yours and those hills this summer, the train tracks, the brown boy, the white girl, her brother and the town and everything between the chest and the belly, between heaven and hell and-

His breath brought you to life.
Remember how to use it, don't forget how to use it.
Please for him, use it.

1,2,1,2,1-

the boys are godsWhere stories live. Discover now