Scrub

Almost like staring at the sky. Kicked his legs-- it didn't help. His hand bobs up and down, up and down, in water and out-- it doesn't help. He's dying, he's dying,  and he won't live.

His hand reaches something soft and he clings to it, grabs and pulls and his face bobs out of water --sweet, precious, delicious air-- and then he's pulled back under the sky. He's dying.  He's breathing treacherous acid-water that burns his lungs away and all he can see is the shimmering white-blue sky, moving forever and ever without him...

And then he's pulled up above the deathly sky and he lives again.

--

The child clings to his mother, breathing out clouds of ice. His legs tremble forward, and the woman quietly urges him on. "Go on, you can do it," She murmurs with a smile. He looks at her with bright eyes and he trembles. His mother nods and pushes him lightly. He looks down and up, and then smiles shyly. "Okay!" he says. So he takes a few shaky steps, and then he goes faster, and then he's running, his stubby legs stomping against the sidewalk. He hears his mother's scream against his ears, "Watch out!" but then it's too late.

He slips against the ice and cracks his head on the sidewalk.

All he can see is the overcast sky and his mother's fading face.

--

He pats his old friend and leans towards him, inching his arms around his wide, woody berth. He rubs his face against the rough, scratchy bark and chuckles. "You always have to respect living stuff, my mom says to me," the boy says. The boy's other friend fidgets and looks up to the kingdom of branches and leaves. "You sure you can climb that?" He asks with a disbelieving face. The boy laughs and stands proud, his hands on his hips. "Duh! I've done this like twenty times already!" And he turns back and scampers up  the tree like a child onto his grandfather's lap, and grins down at the boy stuck to the ground. "See, I--

"Charlie, what are you doing?!"

He is falling. There was a stick on the ground, and Oh! a shriek splits the air as his eye is pierced by wood.

He is rolled over, and it is all too familiar when he sees the blue.

--

"No! You don't understand!" He wails, sweeping his arm across the top of the desk, glass vases and photo frames shattering on the floor. His mother is standing with her arms outstretched to him, and his parents are screaming-- he can't hear one over the other-- and tears are tickling his face while raining down. He bursts out of the room and out the door and out of the protection of a little bird's shell. He runs and runs and runs and reaches truant waters that break out of their confinement, slapping against the banks and yelping.

He relives water's embrace with a mindless splash.

This time the sky is painfully, horribly black.

--

His mother is sobbing, but she smiles. She gives a hiccup and is embraced by his fiancee, who smooths out her hair and pats her back. "Oh, oh God..." His mother hiccups, and her voice is muffled. "You've gone so far... Proud. I'm so proud of you." He smiles and embraces the two women, and his fiancee beams at him.

He closes the car door and his soon-to-be wife settles down next to him. The car roars to life and purrs down the street. "She's kind of emotional," she says, and he turns to her and grins, his glass eye facing the street. "You'll be like that in some years gone with our children." But she's staring wide ahead, and she screams.

There's the sickening crackling of metal and bone and tearing of skin and flesh, and the flames devour the cars alive. He does see blue this time-- blue and black. It's the image of despair, black field of death and destruction. She isn't alive, they aren't alive. Ashes fall from the sky-- feathers of a forsaken and vengeful angel. His throat is burned sore and he cries, silently and painfully.

He's just lost everything.

--

There are people passing him by, strutting and shuffling and acting like he isn't there, staring at them pitifully, with hollow eyes and gaunt face haunting the street. He can feel the decay of his body, the rotting of poverty and morbid tranquility. He has nothing but his perpetual companion of blue.

A couple walks by, and, upon seeing him, scrunch up their faces and skitter away. His eyes linger on them, the two who were not struck by blue. He curses them and praises them, curses and praises the world.

Later, when the sun is setting, a girl-- he thinks it's the same girl from before-- comes back. She crouches down and hands him a bag from McDonald's and a soda. "Please take this, " she whispers.

He smiles for the first time in a long while, his yellow teeth peeking through cracked, chapped lips.

"Thank you."

The sky is completely white with clouds, and it is almost like a cleansing of everything past.

Spill

Almost like starin at the sky. Kicked his legs-- it didn't help. His hand bobs up and down, up and down, in water and out-- it doesn't help. He's dying, he's dying,  and he'll never live again.

His hand reaches somtehing soft and he clings to it and grabs and pulls and his face bobs out of water --sweet, precious, deliciou s air-- and then he's pulled back under the sky. He's dying.  He's breathing treacherous acid-water that burns his lungs away and all he can see is the shimmering white-blue sky, moving forever and ever without huim...

And then he's pulled up above the deathly sky and he lives again.

--

The child clings to his mother, breathing out clouds of ice. His legs tremble forward, and the woman quietly urges him on. "Go on, you can do it," She murmurs with a smile. He looks at her with bright eyes, and then beams. "Okay!" So he takes a few shaky steps, and then he goes faster, and then he's running, his stubby legs stomping against the sidewalk. He hears his mother's scream against his ears, "Watch out!" but then it's too late.

He slips against the ice and cracks his head on the sidewalk.

All he can see is the overcast sky and his mother's fading face.

--

He pats his old friend and leans towards him, inching his arms around his wide, woody berth. He rubs his face againstthe rough, scratchy bark and chuckles. "You always have to respect living stuff, my mom says to me," the boy says. The boys' other friend fidgets and looks up to the kingdom of branches and leaves. "You sure you can climb that?" He asks, a disbelieving face. the boy laughs and stands proud, his hands on his hips. "Duh! I've one this like twenty times already!" And he turns back and scampers up  the tree like a child onto hisgrandfather's lap, and grins down at the boy stuck to the ground. "See, I--

"Charlie, what are you doing?!"

He is falling.

And it is all too familiar when he sees the blue.

--

He stares at the razor in his hand. It sparkles with the glint of the devil's seductions, and he purses his lips. This is all a stage, his mother said. It will all go away. Nothing's as bad as it seems.

But it is.It is. Oh, it is. But his mother doesn't understand. This makes the pain go away...

It's numb, burning, dying, shocking, and blank. He doesn't see blue this time. He sees black.

--

His mother is sobbuing, butr she smiles. She gives a hiccup and is embraced by his fiancee, who smooths out her hair and pats her back. "Oh, oh God..." His mother hiccups, and her voice is muffled. "You've gone so far... Proud, I'm so proud of you." He smiles and embraces the two women, and his fiancee beams at him.
He closes the car door and his soon-to-be wife settles down next to him. The car roars to life  and purrs down the street. "She's kind of emotional," she says, and he turns to her and grins. "You'll be like that in some years gone with our children." But she's staring wide ahead, and she screams.

there's the sickening crackling of metal and bone and tearing of skin and flesh, and the flames devour the tw ocars alive. He does see blue this time-- blue and black. It's the image of despari, black field of death and destruction. She isn't alive, they aren't alive. Ashes fall from the sky-- feathers of a forsaken and vengeful angel. His throat is burned sore and he cries, silently and painfully.

--

There are people passing him by, strutting and shuffling and acting like he isn't there, staring at them pitifully, with hollow eyes and gaunt face haunting the street. He can feel the decay of ihs body, the rotting of poverty and morbid tranquility.

He has nothing but his perpetual comp[anion of blue.

A couple walks by, and, upon seeing him, scrunch up thier faces and skitter away. His eyes linger on them, the two who were not struck by blue. He curses them and praises them, curses and praises thel world, .

Later, when the sun is setting, a girl-- he thinks it's the same girl from before-- comes back. She hands him a bag from McDonalds and a soda. "Please take this, " she whispers.

He smiles for the first time in a long while, his yellow teeth peeking through cracked lips.

"Thank you."

The sky is white with clouds, and it is almost like a cleansing of everything past.