The static noise of droplets created a sense of balance throughout her racing mind, piled with emotions and worries of how to solve a problem that hasn't been created. Even though she hated how the rain would settle in her hair and extend her locks miles without end, even though the rain can somehow turn her into Chewbacca within a few seconds, she endured it with a tiny smile. Her eyelashes blinked ever so rapidly, frantically trying to keep her eyes open.
The bus swerved to the stop and its doors creaked open. Her footsteps made loud splashes in the puddles of rain as she ran down a hill of slippery nonsense. Once in the bus, she let out a loud breath, plopped the quarters into the coin machine, and scanned the seats left. She finally chose one in the very back, in the corner, far from everyone and anyone.
She placed her head gently on the window, letting her ears pick up the thunder and roaring clouds. The clouds were screaming of anger, yelling and pulling at their ends. They wanted to speak but they can't. Of course, they can't. They are clouds.
She took in every syllable of the clouds, and how they wept of soggy tears, and how they sang of dirges and let out high vocals. She played their melodies in her mind, over and over again.
For an hour, she was at peace. She felt her veins spread the dopamine throughout her body; she felt happy.
And it's these moments that keep her a little longer in a world full of soggy tears.
YOU ARE READING
therapy
Short Story"they told us that we needed therapy, as if medication and tainted words could fix broken toys."
