I went to the for water, although I had no thirst, again
unable to find Not sleeping, roaming restless, hunting at 2am for on my phone, no rabbit hole too deep, however dull, aching tired as though I had been Only three days into this, asked how mywas going, I launched into a tense that the question even deservedand saw how hard, again, I was trying not to the plain fact that right in front of us,
again, the cop had emptied his into a human, now yet shackled to his hospital bed. That again, a young had taken down a human with a military grade yet away from the scene unhindered. And that, again, we were being asked
to choke offthoughts, stifle any sound, stave and belt the chest to our agitation, keep breathing because, again,
When the storm’s coming, you can feel it. The atmosphere’s tense, quivering the leaves, hot, damp air close up to your face, the cloud doubling and darkening, metallic grey, sucking in the light. There’s a portent in the frenzy of birds and the cat’s retreat into the bottom of the clothes cupboard. Sometimes night falls and everything is still on edge, pending. The child loves to hear the thunder sneak up in the dark with a low growl. She counts the seconds after each cannonade. When the rain finally falls, you can’t hear much else, even when there’s shouting. She likes to climb out of bed into her window and get gooseflesh in the wind, then to jump back, shivering, under the covers to get warm. Then she does it again. Once there were hailstones, thrashing the asbestos roof. The noise obliterated everything, like a drug; she slept.