Already the jar is filled with rain, water keeps falling from the sky the way tears won't stop when he has died suddenly, leaving a young boy without a father and a mother who doesn't know the answers, that tomorrow is a word with no meaning that keeps coming and coming even when we wish it wouldn't and the dog just hides under the table because he knows there has been a change and he fears the rain anyway, especially this rain, this mythic, symbolic, fucking rain that spills over the top of the jar and now the rug is wet because I don't know how to patch the roof or even where the tools are and besides I'm only thirteen years old and I'm supposed to be out playing in the rain and not watching over my mother to make sure the depression doesn't make her do anything I've been wanting to do to myself for days, endless days since the box rolled into the furnace and it was final, the final act of betrayal, the final fuck you to a world he never liked, a family he never wanted, but he did what was expected and I hate him for it, I hate everything, especially this god-damned rain that threatens to drown me in sorrow.
Not much to say about this. It has probably needed to come out for about 26 years or so. Jay's exercise unlocked the door. For that I am grateful.
Technorati Tags: Zaadz, Creative Spirituality, Writing from Clear Mind, Free writing, Death, Father
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