Revision.
My shoes stained green quickly this morning; the grass was still wet from the morning dew. I looked up into the sky and noticed a dark gray blanket drifting in from the west. The sky in the east was becoming overtaken, but I could still see darkness fading itself into a bright purple and eventually blue. I like mornings like this, but without the clouds. The crowbar was welded to the wall.
The motor on the lawn mower is from 2006, so it’s pretty rickety. It caused the ground to spasm underneath my feet and my upper body to shake miserably. My mind didn’t seem to wander as much while blasting music under 80 decibel earmuffs. All I could think about is her.
It’s amazing, the effect she has on me. Those eyes, her smile, the smell of her hair. Well, actually it just smells like soap, but whatever. . . don’t judge me. I like it. Her laugh is heart-stopping. It always seemed to drift off into the deepest reaches of my mind, and echo there. It makes me smile. It’s so fluid, unlike the other girls I know whose laugh is deep and throaty, not much different than the sound a dog makes just before it throws up. Unfortunately they are the only people interested in me.
Wham! Rocks and dirt pelted my back and spewed over the top of my head. Thank God for Carharrt. Who would throw dirt? I guess whoever it is must be trying to piss me off. I’ll just ignore them. I continued down the north side of my mom’s house, a small pathway filled with flowers on the left and right, with just enough room to squeeze by someone. It was right next to Fred’s house. He and my mom always seem to be competing with their gardens or something. I think it’s pretty weird.
Fred. . . He was outside in his garden with his precious Azaleas. I think he’s like 35, and all he cares about are his flowers. He doesn’t even have a job. Maybe he’s rich. His family is back east somewhere, Kentucky or something. He doesn’t really have any friends around here either. Well there’s that bald Mexican looking guy but he doesn’t seem very happy when he visits. I wonder what he does in his house, as a person who detests technology. I only ever see him in the garden. Class A weirdo. He needs to take a break from gardening. He needs to get a newspaper or something. The crowbar was welded to the wall.
At one point he stood up in his garden and screamed and pointed at something. A frantic look of imminent death. Oh god. I thought it must be his fucking azaleas. Not this crap again. I had never uprooted them, nor will I, I have no reason. Well I chose to ignore his silent screams of desperation and drown back into my music. “It burns away all that has passed, and draws me to her side; a direct hit the cupid smiles.” Tiger Army is the shit. Same with Jesus.
I reached the front yard and noticed two big divots in the ground. Dirt, rocks, and grass, propelled away from their centers. I hopped inside one to investigate. It was as deep as my waist and from one end to the other and was as long as both my arms stretched out. The earth inside was charred black and smelled funny; It pinched the inside of my nostrils. I decided to check out the one on the far side of the front yard, but I saw another one had appeared down the street. I only know because I deftly stood in one place as a large chunk of cement decided to choose its resting place in front of me; it barely missed me and gathered my attention. The crater wasn’t nearly as big, but the edges were smoldering and there was a pillar of smoke rising up into the sky.
I delved back into my music again and interspliced lyrics with what was happening: All over the sky smoky things are coming down. . . smoky things coming down. . . smoky things coming down. . . Then the obvious came to my attention as I sang: “Holy fucking shit we’re getting attacked!”
I leaped up out of the crater and spun around only to trip on the lawn mower. Who would put that there? Oh yeah, Fred was probably still mad about the azaleas I tore up last night. I got up and started to sprint for cover, only to trip on freshly cut sog clippings and put my face to earth in zero seconds flat. I carefully got up again and made another attempt at a beeline. The first thing I saw was the entrance to the foundation of the house, a cellar, between the patches of red and white roses. Something told me cremated ashes were busy fertilizing them. I don’t know why. I made about 40 feet of ground when another intense vibration launched the ground out from my feet and put me back to the ground. A burning rubber tire rolled past me, probably from the mower. I didn’t look back; I didn’t have time. I crawled through the man-made marshland of the side yard, clenching my teeth to prevent my heart from rolling out of my mouth as it seemed to be stuck in my throat. Maybe it really was, because I choked on something. Yeah it was definitely in my throat.
I lifted the dark cast iron lid with ease, and the hinge creaked. I couldn’t hear it but I know what
My shoes stained green quickly this morning; the grass was still wet from the morning dew. I looked up into the sky and noticed a dark gray blanket drifting in from the west. The sky in the east was becoming overtaken, but I could still see darkness fading itself into a bright purple and eventually blue. I like mornings like this, but without the clouds. The crowbar was welded to the wall.
The motor on the lawn mower is from 2006, so it’s pretty rickety. It caused the ground to spasm underneath my feet and my upper body to shake miserably. My mind didn’t seem to wander as much while blasting music under 80 decibel earmuffs. All I could think about is her.
It’s amazing, the effect she has on me. Those eyes, her smile, the smell of her hair. Well, actually it just smells like soap, but whatever. . . don’t judge me. I like it. Her laugh is heart-stopping. It always seemed to drift off into the deepest reaches of my mind, and echo there. It makes me smile. It’s so fluid, unlike the other girls I know whose laugh is deep and throaty, not much different than the sound a dog makes just before it throws up. Unfortunately they are the only people interested in me.
Wham! Rocks and dirt pelted my back and spewed over the top of my head. Thank God for Carharrt. Who would throw dirt? I guess whoever it is must be trying to piss me off. I’ll just ignore them. I continued down the north side of my mom’s house, a small pathway filled with flowers on the left and right, with just enough room to squeeze by someone. It was right next to Fred’s house. He and my mom always seem to be competing with their gardens or something. I think it’s pretty weird.
Fred. . . He was outside in his garden with his precious Azaleas. I think he’s like 35, and all he cares about are his flowers. He doesn’t even have a job. Maybe he’s rich. His family is back east somewhere, Kentucky or something. He doesn’t really have any friends around here either. Well there’s that bald Mexican looking guy but he doesn’t seem very happy when he visits. I wonder what he does in his house, as a person who detests technology. I only ever see him in the garden. Class A weirdo. He needs to take a break from gardening. He needs to get a newspaper or something. The crowbar was welded to the wall.
At one point he stood up in his garden and screamed and pointed at something. A frantic look of imminent death. Oh god. I thought it must be his fucking azaleas. Not this crap again. I had never uprooted them, nor will I, I have no reason. Well I chose to ignore his silent screams of desperation and drown back into my music. “It burns away all that has passed, and draws me to her side; a direct hit the cupid smiles.” Tiger Army is the shit. Same with Jesus.
I reached the front yard and noticed two big divots in the ground. Dirt, rocks, and grass, propelled away from their centers. I hopped inside one to investigate. It was as deep as my waist and from one end to the other and was as long as both my arms stretched out. The earth inside was charred black and smelled funny; It pinched the inside of my nostrils. I decided to check out the one on the far side of the front yard, but I saw another one had appeared down the street. I only know because I deftly stood in one place as a large chunk of cement decided to choose its resting place in front of me; it barely missed me and gathered my attention. The crater wasn’t nearly as big, but the edges were smoldering and there was a pillar of smoke rising up into the sky.
I delved back into my music again and interspliced lyrics with what was happening: All over the sky smoky things are coming down. . . smoky things coming down. . . smoky things coming down. . . Then the obvious came to my attention as I sang: “Holy fucking shit we’re getting attacked!”
I leaped up out of the crater and spun around only to trip on the lawn mower. Who would put that there? Oh yeah, Fred was probably still mad about the azaleas I tore up last night. I got up and started to sprint for cover, only to trip on freshly cut sog clippings and put my face to earth in zero seconds flat. I carefully got up again and made another attempt at a beeline. The first thing I saw was the entrance to the foundation of the house, a cellar, between the patches of red and white roses. Something told me cremated ashes were busy fertilizing them. I don’t know why. I made about 40 feet of ground when another intense vibration launched the ground out from my feet and put me back to the ground. A burning rubber tire rolled past me, probably from the mower. I didn’t look back; I didn’t have time. I crawled through the man-made marshland of the side yard, clenching my teeth to prevent my heart from rolling out of my mouth as it seemed to be stuck in my throat. Maybe it really was, because I choked on something. Yeah it was definitely in my throat.
I lifted the dark cast iron lid with ease, and the hinge creaked. I couldn’t hear it but I know what