#amandaonwriting

The wind is quiet. Hushed like it is someone's secret and they are scared to loudly confess. It's rustling the trees and the grass and it becomes a roar as it picks up and that someone is shouting for all to hear before remembering themselves and going quiet again. It tastes like rain either before or after. Damp - like you are digging a hole in the beach and can almost touch the water bubbling under the sand. So close you can almost taste it. Taste the cleanliness of it and the relieved exhale that comes after. I touch the edges of the leaves and turn them, trying to turn it the right away in hopes it will spring the rain forward. The whole world is a machine with it's own mind and all you can do is coax and wait and see what happens.

I saw red. A sick anger in my stomach that twisted and twisted and grew sharp in my spine. I took a breath to try and suppress it but it flashed that same red in my eyes and made my tongue hot. I hated him. I hated him and I hated him and as he reached out to touch her hand he became red and I hated him. I hated him.