A Tormenting Parallel
Ren Perry
Ren Perry
The halcyonic moment of time just before it all began, I was talking with a friend on the phone. The laughs that were once callow and innocent turn sour with the leaden color of the sky, even so, I count on them to drown out the cacophony of noise. I can already feel the pit in my stomach growing larger with each gust of wind. I close the curtains in a worthless attempt to make it go away but the shadows, the lights, the sounds, the shaking are all particularly unabating in pounding their way into my head. I conjecture myself to be a fairly logical person, most of the time I find solace in it, but perhaps in this moment, it will be my fatal deposition.
I try my hardest to escape the inevitable knowing my piteous expectations of corporeality will not be met. At this point, I can't tell if the rumbling in my chest, the gelid chill down my spine, and the turbulent noises stabbing at my eardrums are merely a product of the lamentable weather outside or ones of my own perverse doing.
Every attempt to ground myself only allows reality to seep in and override any sliver of existing optimism. It's hard to push it all out when I’m being rushed into the basement as the most recent weather report smarts my throat in a fashion similar to the burning hot blueberry tea I was once a bit too eager to taste.
Finally, with the long-anticipated force pre-calculated from past experience, the floodgates break loose and the severity of the situation that I've tried so hard to avoid rushes into my realm of acknowledgment like the pounding rain outside.
I stop running.
I look the storm in its cold, dead eyes and find comfort, for we are not so different.
I try my hardest to escape the inevitable knowing my piteous expectations of corporeality will not be met. At this point, I can't tell if the rumbling in my chest, the gelid chill down my spine, and the turbulent noises stabbing at my eardrums are merely a product of the lamentable weather outside or ones of my own perverse doing.
Every attempt to ground myself only allows reality to seep in and override any sliver of existing optimism. It's hard to push it all out when I’m being rushed into the basement as the most recent weather report smarts my throat in a fashion similar to the burning hot blueberry tea I was once a bit too eager to taste.
Finally, with the long-anticipated force pre-calculated from past experience, the floodgates break loose and the severity of the situation that I've tried so hard to avoid rushes into my realm of acknowledgment like the pounding rain outside.
I stop running.
I look the storm in its cold, dead eyes and find comfort, for we are not so different.
//
Ren Perry (they/them) is a sophomore at the Lehigh Valley Charter High School for the Arts where
they study Theatre. They enjoy fashion and design and spend their free time listening to music,
reading, or spending time with their animals. Their favorite book at the moment is The Secret
History by Donna Tarte and their favorite band is The Cure.
Ren Perry (they/them) is a sophomore at the Lehigh Valley Charter High School for the Arts where
they study Theatre. They enjoy fashion and design and spend their free time listening to music,
reading, or spending time with their animals. Their favorite book at the moment is The Secret
History by Donna Tarte and their favorite band is The Cure.