Hannah Whisman

Dusk

Is it always this hot in September? I feel like I can hardly breathe. It’s that dry, choking heat that makes a person wonder if this is one of God’s survival of the fittest tests. If so, I’d like my tombstone to read – She tried. I am trying to survive in this desert my family now calls home. I am trying to be a better person by shoving down the repulsion I have for this stunning adobe mansion with it’s gorgeous deep blue kidney-shaped pool, the fancy fans that are blowing mist over my face as I lounge on the patio, and the laughing children that are chasing each other carelessly between said pool and my feet. I am trying to care about the pointless stories my brother keeps going on about while he grills hamburgers on his lavish new grill. I am trying to put a smile on my face even though it feels like I have no right. I am trying. I take a sip of my watered-down diet coke and stare at the moon. I’ve always loved when I can see the moon at dusk.