Rain Dogs



Some stars and a handful of tiny stones to throw upon the surface of the lake. Maybe they’ll skip along, or maybe they’ll sink to the bottom never to be seen again. As a kid, I wished for the ability to drain all the oceans just to be able to see what was underneath. The thought of glimpsing those wrecked ships and planes hidden for hundreds of years used to keep me up all night, such was my infant thirst for mystery. The idea of walking from country to country while in the shadow of those once underwater mountains; it would occupy my mind until I’d fall asleep exhausted unable to wake in time for school the following morning. Throwing each stone as well as my cold fingers will allow, I attach a wish to each one before launching them through the air. Those stars, they hang there the same as they’ve done since I can remember. At times, it feels like this place never changes, like I’m stuck in a stasis and life is as hollow and as empty as those cans of Coke that blow in the harsh wind on nights like these. And how they blow, so energetic and carefree yet directionless and doomed nonetheless. But it changes. Everything changes. It’s just that we hardly ever take the time to look closer and notice. Maybe I’ll pop into a store and pick up a bottle of wine. That place near the bus station, perhaps. I like that one. The guy working there in the evenings always makes conversation with me, and although he never knocks any money off the overpriced bottles of white, his smile and charm make me feel as though I get something a little extra for my dollars and cents. Yeah, I’ll go pay him a visit, and then I’ll listen to my music while walking back along the main road. The headlights of the oncoming traffic look so pretty at night, and in the distance, when the land begins to rise, I find myself gazing down upon the town and it too appears so pretty and serene when in reality, it’s full of decades worth of piss and rain dogs and more of those empty Coke cans that dance around streets with no name. You know them as well as I. Perhaps one day when the weather gets a little warmer, we’ll walk down one and make it our own.

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.com

21 replies »

  1. We are often forced, to give up on our childish fantasies, to grow up, by our adult counterparts’ demands, and they don’t realize, that childhood is what makes us into capable adults later on as we become adults.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s