I lay on the splintering wood. Weezer’s “California Kids” rattles through the back of my mind like a muddled memory. The smell of freshly-cut grass fills the air…Remember your breathing!… No need to be angry. Nothing is wrong. Still, the rage pools in the center of my brow, its acid dripping down to my lips and scorching my face. Soon, it snakes its way to the back of my throat. I scream, nonsensically, into the piercing blue sky above. The force of my cries shatters my voice until all I can muster is a whispering yelp. But it is a calm weekday morning and no one heard. If they did, I wouldn’t have known.
Hidden Jules 