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Stage 5

Updated: Mar 9, 2020

I was not ready, when the storm came.

The air became thick, and heavy to swallow.

I cannot name the color of the sky.

Perhaps it was the color of magenta,

or perhaps it was the color of permanence.

I heard the howls of inhumanity, before I felt the wind on my cheeks.

It did not graze my skin.

It whipped through my hair, stinging my body with electricity and self-doubt.

There was an atmospheric pressure, building with impending consequences.

I had heard of acid rain, before; had nightmares of the utter destruction.

But I never even saw the drops falling.

The screams tore through my lungs, creating cracks in my throat, like glass, shattering the possibility of rain.

Eventually I ran out of air.

When I finally turned to the sky, I saw it pouring, in sheets and buckets.

I opened my mouth, surrendering to swallow the water.

Even with my resignation to drowning in the rising tides, the water burned every chromosome.

I felt myself choking, and forgot what it felt like to inhale.

And, although the sky was still on fire, I began to cough.

Memories and images came sputtering out, spilling over my desperate, split lips.

Then, inexplicably, I began to paddle, remembering that it’s never too late to learn how to swim.


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