The day was over…
I would stand by the window and fix my eyes at the smoldering skies erupting in a nimbus of flame, its crimson ferocity reflecting the seething inferno of impotent fury screaming inside me. Earphones on, music in earsplitting volume, I’d watch in forced wonder as the setting sun spins a blazing web of fire. And I would drift off into a clandestine world… distancing myself from their pain.
But the problem with fantasy is that it’s hard to tell the beginning from the end. It kind of just swallows you and leads you on ‘til you find yourself caught in a fool’s dance… spinning round and round in a mockingly blissful rhythm ‘til your knees give way and you’re gasping for air. The red curtains close and you find yourself shrouded in perpetual darkness, staring at the obsidian sky… cold, indifferent, bereft of stars…
At his funeral, the sun began to set. And I stared at it expectantly, half hoping that it’d burn clean every last taint of violence and hurt. But no peace came… Only a bewildering net of mixed emotions… a sense of loss even. My anger evaporated.
I looked at the sky again and saw nothing but a feeble ginger haze.
Peace finally came
as the last embers of hate
fizzled within me.