The Collision

“Mom, I hate you and hope you go and burn in hell!” I scream.

Slamming the door, I walk off, I felt drip upon drip on hit my head. Looking up, I see rain upon raindrop fall from the sky. I hear the front door open, then a splash on splash of steps hit the concrete. Turning around I come face to face with my mother.

“Raven come back inside, it’s pouring rain right now,” she says.

“No, let the rain come down, mother, because I’d rather be out here than in that house,” I reply.

“Raven come on, it’s getting darker, we’re both getting wetter, and it’s getting cold dear,” she says.

“No, because once I step back in that door, I’ll be pulled back into mistreatment and unfairness, so no mom,” I reply once again.

“Find but wait here just one moment,” she tells me.

“For what,” I ask.

My mother runs back into the house for an entire thirty minutes.

“My dear daughter, since you want to leave this luxurious home here are your things, dear!” she shouts, then she throws all my stuff on the ground. Running over I catch all my electronic devices. Finally, after she drops the rest of my clothing, she drops a bag and a duffel bag. Quickly, I pack my wet pieces of clothing and other wet items. I head from this hell hole I call my home.

“Dear mother, father, and step-sister, hope you hideous people burn in hell with the rest of your crappy mess,” I shout.

By the time I’m finished packing it starts downpouring upon downpour of rain again.

Looking up at the sky, I shake my head, walking off the property, I head onto the cracked sidewalk. The sidewalk is like my life cracked, broken, and unfixable.

“My day has been great,” I say sarcastically.

“Do you always talk to yourself in the rain,” someone asks.

“No, but today, just isn’t my day,” I reply.

“Why is that,” someone asks.

Looking behind my shoulder, I see a boy walking behind me in soaking wet clothes.

“It’s complicated,” I reply.

“How so,” he asks again.

“It just is,” I reply.

“Only complicated for a reason so what is that reason,” he inquires.

“Might I ask what’s your name,” I ask him.

“ My name is Alex,” he replies.

“Well Alex, might I ask why are you walking in the rain,” I ask.

“Same as you, trying to clear my head, except, I don’t have a travel bag,” he replies. “ Hey and I never got your name.”

“Well my name is Raven, and I’m actually not clearing my head, I’m actually finding a new home, since I left and my mother disowned me for her new husband and stepdaughter,” I reply.

“Ouch,” Alex says.

“Yup,” I reply.

“Would you like to accompany me to the park,” I ask.

“Sure,” he replies.

Crossing the street east to the park or right across the street to the right. Reaching the park, all you see is a wet, soggy playground with a creak of the swings and a screw going loose in and out of the slide. The park is like a specter town.

Alex and I found a somewhat dry bench, that didn’t have a squeak, nor splinters, nor a dip down in the seat. I drop my bags on the bench and run over to the swings.

As I try, nothing happens until I fill, and the momentum of my swing picks up. Then the momentum of the wing stops and I look over at Alex who has gotten on a swing.

“So, Raven, what’s your excuse for being out in the intense rain,” Alex asks.

“Argument with my mom,” I reply.

“What’s yours,” I ask.

“Argument with dad,” he replies.

“Oh,” I reply.

“Yup,” he says.

Drizzle upon drizzle hits my head. We look over at each other and then up at the vault we call blue. Raindrop upon raindrop keeps falling every second faster.