Cracked Wind

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I hate windy days. Not the days where a cool breeze touches you and you get reminded of sultry hot evenings and his touch on your bare skin, but the windy days which leave your eyes bloodshot and set your skin on fire. I call them the "cracked windy days".

 Imagine entering a room full of cracked mirror fragments in the dark and getting a piece of glass stuck on your left toe, writhing in pain, stomping around while your feet gets caked in grime and blood. Sickly warm blood that you can’t see, but by now you feel it everywhere. Now imagine wind having that effect on your skin, invisible pain – wind making you bleed.

So I would shut my window tight on cracked windy days. But through chinks and gaps it would enter nonetheless, and I would sit upright on my bed, waiting for the torture to get over...

Fools are they who say that the best way to overcome your fear is to face it. For I have already tried that.

Fools are they who say that every story of suffering has a happy ending.

No overcoming this. No finding redemption.

Cracked wind will come back and haunt me. Always. 


April 13, 2015

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