there was a mild cloud.

Rain was coming, the wind slowly walking over the hills and fields. We waited.

No one came but there was an uproar anyway, sifting through nothing; did you think that there would be a diamond in between the mud? Or gold lost in the ragweeds? The mud and the waste, our blood and lives. There are suppose to be teeth hidden in the shade of the mountain. I thought that I saw a man walking around the rocks and the waste, let me tell you:

The sky was white and gray, blinding almost. Where had the birds gone? Or the crickets? Only there was silence, and him, a long beard and long hair, looking forward lost on the edge of the scene. The rocks were brown but the color had drained from my face leaving everything some shade of gray. I thought about coughing but held it in; he would look at me and see, see through me, see a heart and lungs shifting fast, see a stomach in the process of boiling over. Fright and conquest-thrills in the end. We were brothers. He heard my mind, turned his head.

His eyes were white and the sky, the sky looked at me. I blinked.

"No one heard you coming." He walked off a cliff, but by then the sound had all drained from it too. I stared forward into the void which is God, the void which is the source of everything that flows through me. A tear, or a rip. I tried to tell it that I shouldn't be looking at it, or tried to tell myself. I put my hand in front of me, or towards the void, reaching out or dashing blinding light away.

"Counterintuitive. Stop shaking me, God damn it, stop reaching so far underneath and knowing nothing that once was!" Time came out and shook me. Everything was once and at once. "I'm coming, I promise."

I was almost there.