05/02/2024
The Man in the Hat is a different type of beast. Here is a sample:
The clouds rumbled overhead, and Jack shook in his stead. His eyes didn’t look ahead, but peered above at the flowing, seamless gray sky as he walked. Even the clouds have a path. They seem to stalk, Jack thought as he drew in a cold, chilling breath; a bitter savior pulling him from the throngs of death.
Suddenly, he felt a trickle go down his cheek; a stroke of sorrow running down in a streak. For a moment Jack believed it was beginning to rain, but the drops ran seamless with the crippling pain.
The heavy burden drained from his soft blue eyes; flooding the hope for a smile to disguise. He hung his head and wiped his cheeks dry quickly; seeking to hide what hung so grimly. I don’t want anybody to see. They will all just make a joke out of me.
Jack continued his walk through the razor sharp breeze with his head hung low to hide from the freeze. His swelling sockets bled full with the flood; his gaze it teetered finding rest in the mud. I wish I didn’t have to see the doctor today. He doesn’t need to see me this way. I don’t want him to perceive the decay.
Dr. Stanley normally never accepted patients in his home, but his office was destroyed in the most recent flood. The river it raged running across many towns; murderous waves, it’s victims they drowned.
Jack found refuge on higher ground, beyond the window thunder growled in the clouds. He rocked and teetered, clawing at the shaved sides of his head. The building it rocked, shaking in it’s stead.
Tremors of fear pursed across Jack’s sweating brow, dark strands they hung, shielding his eyes from the prowl. The pounding pitter patter seemed to never cease; the fear it rippled running it’s course like a disease.
The worn brogues on Jack’s feet clicked down the walk as he passed a group of old withered pines that held a hawk. The branches carved across the crow filled sky. The cawing of the crows is a constant hum within the mind. Another thought lost to the drear of time.
Cars cruised down the road in a seamless shuffle; the honking of horns stifled the muffle.
All of them, everybody it seemed had a destination to reach. A meager, mundane task subject to a routine. Everyone was at service to a deed. Not a sense of adventure where one could be freed.
A boy bounced his ball down the walk and ran towards Jack across the fading chalk. The sight of the child getting lost in the play brought joy to Jack’s heart; it was the first time he had smiled all day.
Ya see, kids always get to Jack the most, they always seem so happy. A faith in bliss, rising a sunken valley. Innocent sunshine bursts forth from their hearts; an unblemished soul not scarred by the marks.
Only over time does the world bring more clouds before it, sending the veil. The sun loses it’s shine and revolves towards the pale. The sky it blackens, and thunder it splits. Cries they rumble over what has become of it. The mourning of innocence that has been lost. Every action comes with a cost.
