Post by Dirk Zephyrs on Sept 15, 2007 19:34:33 GMT -5
Stephen breathed hard, leaning against a boulder, his breath misting in the early morning chill. Dew from the grass had already soaked through his Converse and was starting to wet his socks. It was ritual, though, taking the Sunday morning hike to the waterfall. He pulled on his cigarette and paused the song on his iPod, letting the sound of water echo through his skull. He spit on a nearby wildflower, a greasy green bauble of saliva landing right on its neck-like stem and hanging there for a second before peeling off and plopping down to the ground. He blew out a cloud of smoke which quickly dispersed in the light breeze, and then dropped the butt and zipped up his jacket. He set off at a slow jog through the little glade, running alongside a shallow, but wide, stream, his shoes squelching loudly with every step.
The hammering was louder than his headphones, crushing out the rhythmic music with a roaring torrent, and he smiled as he sat down on a small rock in the shade of a withered and gnarly tree. He rubbed his hands together, breathing on the exposed flesh to warm it, and then reached for his Zippo lighter and his cigarettes. He lit one with a clam certainty, a knowing, and then shoved his lighter back into his pocket and turned off the music.
“Fuck if I know,” he said. Just for the feel of it.
He flashed a smile at his reflection in the water some feet away and kicked off his muddy shoes, his socks peeling halfway off with them. He wrinkled his nose a little and then lay back, staring skyward. The clouds billowed across in migratory herds, small packs and niches, but no billowing thunderstorms showed their ugly visages. There was a goat, and then a dog, and then a hunter and deer. Here, he was certain, was heaven.
“This, you fucking atheists, is your fucking proof that God exists,” he said to no one in particular.
He stood up and walked to the edge of the pool, facing the billowing mist, rainbows flashing through the clouds, the roar of the falls no longer a noise but a feeling, a vibration running down his spine and though his fingers. He smiled and flicked his cigarette into the water.
The hammering was louder than his headphones, crushing out the rhythmic music with a roaring torrent, and he smiled as he sat down on a small rock in the shade of a withered and gnarly tree. He rubbed his hands together, breathing on the exposed flesh to warm it, and then reached for his Zippo lighter and his cigarettes. He lit one with a clam certainty, a knowing, and then shoved his lighter back into his pocket and turned off the music.
“Fuck if I know,” he said. Just for the feel of it.
He flashed a smile at his reflection in the water some feet away and kicked off his muddy shoes, his socks peeling halfway off with them. He wrinkled his nose a little and then lay back, staring skyward. The clouds billowed across in migratory herds, small packs and niches, but no billowing thunderstorms showed their ugly visages. There was a goat, and then a dog, and then a hunter and deer. Here, he was certain, was heaven.
“This, you fucking atheists, is your fucking proof that God exists,” he said to no one in particular.
He stood up and walked to the edge of the pool, facing the billowing mist, rainbows flashing through the clouds, the roar of the falls no longer a noise but a feeling, a vibration running down his spine and though his fingers. He smiled and flicked his cigarette into the water.
