Serenity - A Journal Of Some Sort

double rainbows

she has a fantasy, lying in the wake of the coming thunderheads. a dark, dangerous fantasy, lead on by the tantalizing lures of the summer storm.

throughout her life, she was told she was the human incarnation of a hurricane. fueled by the sun-bleached months of july and august, a swirl of emotions, beautiful and terrible, that came and receded with the summer winds. when they came, they were intensely powerful, enough to demolish everything in its path, whether they be petrifying fear, smothering love, or agonizing sorrow.

so perhaps that was why she felt a moment of enlightenment, a connection to the wall of water moving her way. perhaps this will make her whole - witnessing the storm of the decade.

for months, she has felt something missing from her soul. she tried and she tried and she tried to fill the empty part of it, but it always seemed just a moment out of reach.

deep down, she knows exactly what is missing, no matter how passionately she tries to convince herself she doesn't need it. 

the idea has crossed her mind before. several times, in fact. frankly, it must have crossed her mind every day since that fateful day, lying on the floor at the beginning of november. 

but never before has it seemed so tempting.

she takes her bike out for the last time before the waters sweep it away. on the horizon she can see the gathering dark clouds, but she pays it no mind as the setting august sun melts the rice fields around her into blazes.

suddenly she's curled up in the bathtub, rain from a hole in the ceiling battering her face, clutching her phone, sobbing. she dials the number, praying for service, and by some miracle, hears it ring. 

"i love you," she croaks into the microphone, hands shaking, unsure of whether she had been sent to voicemail or not.

"i miss you."

and then the line cuts out. the ceiling implodes. the world goes dark.

she slams on the bike brakes. shaking her head, she pauses her music, chastising herself inwardly for thinking of such a thing. 

scoffing, she kicks off again and continues down the road. 

the road is underwater. so is the house. the gulf has infiltrated their property; only treetops poke out from the shimmering surface of the murky, debris-filled water. the whole family is sitting on the roof, baking in the summer heat against the shingles, being eaten alive by the hellish swarms of insects, thriving off the smothering humidity. 

it's been days, and they're starting to lose hope. 

suddenly a boat comes put-putting in from the distance, a small speck against the blinding rays of the sun, but grows closer and closer as she realizes it's heading right for them.

the whole family rises to their feet, hollering and screaming, praying that they can catch the boater's attention. it seems to work. in a few short moments, she can make out the figures in the boat, and her heart swells with a shameful joy, but joy nonetheless.

as her family is escorted off the roof, he gives an offertory shrug. "we had heard that y'all had gone underwater. i had to make sure you were okay."