It always rains this time of year, though I'm not even sure what month it is. November, maybe.
Does it usually rain in November?
I was too young to remember what they taught us about the seasons. I must've been about 6 when the last public schools closed down.
I often fall asleep to the sound of the rain tapping on the roof of the shelter. I've gotten used to it. I could fall asleep through the sound of a blizzard,through ghostly ghasps of the ghusting wind, through hail hitting the ground; afterall, I learned to sleep through the sound of bombs and gunfire as a child, so how could a little rain keep me awake?
It can't. So there must be something else, because though I am tired now, and it is only rain, I cannot sleep.
Even when I close my eyes, the eyes aching for some rest, it does not bring me closer to dritting into that sweet little slice of death I've come to know as sleep.
Perhaps if I make myself yawn and pretend I'm laying on a soft furry rug, facing a grand fireplace emitting a comforting warm kind-of breeze that washes over me like laying a nice hot bubble bath, with scented candles spread around the room, being intoxicated by that aroma that escapes the dying candles, melting, melting into a big mattress spread over a kingsized bed, melting under the silky smooth sheets, melting.
Melting.
Melting like the chocolate on a chocolate fondu.
Melting, just melting now.
Melting like steel after exposure to ******;
Melting like the buildings, houses, cars, the ******* ground, after the fiery armageddon of nukes fall over the cities of sleeping hummanity.
Melting like the face of a child unlucky enough to survive the explosion but to witness the fallout.
Melting like the flesh inside mass graves of irradiated, unrecognisable victims of human nature.
"Oh God" I am surprised to hear myself say as my eyes open up from such such visions of a godless world.
No, it's not the rain that keeps me awake.
