It has been
raining all week. All month, it seems. I’d be worried about flooding if I left
my house.
Heather is
starting to settle in which is a miracle. She and Casey have formed a mutual
respect out of being stuck in the house with me 24/7 and thus have to endure my
every attempt to occupy my hands.
Sometimes
it’s cooking, sometimes it’s cleaning, sometimes it’s digging graves I’ll never
fill. I just need to do something, you know?
The rain
has been making it excellent digging weather, the ground is nice and soft.
Gardening has been a breeze. Did I not mention that I started gardening? Cause
why not. Just a couple of vegetables in the corner of the backyard but I’m
excited about their progress. I’ve never been much of a grower or nurturer.
Sure, I had the kids but they were already half-baked by the time I adopted them.
Sandra was only a little younger than Casey when she first came to live with
us.
Even then,
she was mature for her age. I saw how much she wanted to protect Jason. The
amount of babysitting I did for those kids, I saw them grow into these loving,
independent people who never stood a chance. They were screwed from the day
they were born but they made the most of it.
I miss
them. I miss the life we could have had together. Our lives could have been so
different.
You know
what else rain is good for? Murder.
It’s not as
good as snow but it’s a good warm weather substitute. Rain softens the ground
which can make it difficult to hide your tracks, yes, but it also makes digging
and moving incredibly easy. There are so many bodies buried under soft soil
that get lost to time and mother nature. Rain makes people reckless, too. Unlike
snow, people are more convinced that they can survive a little rain. So they
run with their head down, or speed through the intersection, or offer to share an
umbrella with a stranger who later stabs them with the pointed end of said
umbrella (because if companies are going to make it that sharp, that’s on them).
It’s
incredibly easy to play at being helpless when it’s raining. Especially in a
heavy downpour. And I don’t necessarily mean the sexy “oh can you help me start
my car, I never noticed my t-shirt was wet” kind of way. Although that got me a
number of kills during flood season when I was 24.
People are
a little more exposed when they’re caught out in the rain. Their only instinct
is survival. Get to the nearest dry spot. Escape. It’s easy to lose sight of
one’s surroundings when you’re so focused on one task.
There’s
also something about the aesthetic that gets me going, too. Again, not as much
as snow, but any precipitation can be beneficial to my cause so I love it all.
Picture a heavy downpour, late evening, you’re running towards a bus stop, seeking
shelter. Just before you reach the sidewalk lit by a streetlamp, you feel a
blinding pain at the top of your spine. You fall to the ground just outside of
the safety of the bus stop and bleed out on the ground as you lose feeling in
your limbs. Your eyes are open, you can’t move them, and you see a bus pulling
up as it’s required to do so. But they can’t see you lying outside of the
streetlight as the rain pours down around you. You’re not found for another
twenty minutes, when a stranger finds your dead body soaking the sidewalk with
your blood. It washes down the storm drain, erasing all trace that you were
ever there.
It’s about
the aesthetic.
You cannot
deny that sometimes, you just do something because it looks pretty. And that is
perfectly okay.
As always, dear
readers,
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