To Perceive an Image

Twenty-Three: Images of Watery Dramatics

Maryanland, September 20, 2040, 5:55 PM

Another day, another long walk with Flynn. Yay.

Although, I'd have appreciated the walk more without the added factor of getting soaked.

That's what she said.

Stop. You are a grown, mature adult.

What do you mean by grown? You're short as fuck.

That's it.

In more middle ages poetic news, it's raining. Everyone and their pets know this because all the sky allowed our eyes the okay to see were heavy drops of cloud juice. And the rain took advantage of this because not a single person or thing impacted by its continuous fall survived. We're all the rain's prisoners, and it has been claiming its territory for hours now.

But I will admit, I love the reflective effect on the road or anything acting as a screen, and even more the smell after it rains. Not to forget, cloudy grey skies are always a bonus for the aesthetic. This much I find solace within. What causes my panic is thunderstorms. But I'm relieved that none of them resurfaced throughout the early morning and afternoon.

Flynn took advantage of this, saying it was his favorite weather, and dragged me on a walk. And his pity, in return for the pathetic sight of us getting soaked the second we went outside, told him to let me choose our ending destination.

About damn time he did, if you ask me. This dude's definition of a walk involves taking an hour-long train ride to who knows where and walking through a trail in a sketchy forest. After fearing for my life on more occasions than one, my wet clothes convinced him to let me decide where to go.

To my surprise, all it took for him to agree was a frown, and teary eyes pointed at my clothes. Part of me wants to overthink his reasons, but the other part slaps me across the face and tells me to shut up. The worst thing is I believe the wrong suspect, and a heavy reality check in the style of 'he doesn't see you that way' throws itself at me. Either way, I'm enjoying this and will continue to enjoy it until an asteroid hits Maryanland. Right...

Every morning when my REM sleep didn't want me anymore, thoughts about the Earth gift shop where I bought the hijo de puta came to mind. For this reason, Flynn and I are heading toward the same gift shop.

Flynn still doesn't understand why we're going there, even though I've explained it more times than I can count.

"Can you tell me why we're going there? I get it's where you got the projector from, but what else?"

"Because I want to, as simple as that. Why? You don't want to go with me? You can go home if you'd like," I display a pout that makes my insides cringe.

Please never do that again. Manipulation sounds a lot better than doing that.

I halt my thoughts when I see Flynn's eyes soften, their usual fatigued appearance long gone. What makes me want to almost projectile vomit is his reddening cheeks. To make matters worse, a bright smile joins the crowd. "Okay, fine let's go," he agrees without further argument. If I knew a pout made him agree to anything I asked in a second, I would've done that ten minutes ago, and saved my throat a workout.

That's what she said.

That does not establish any sense.

The dull look may be gone from Flynn's brown eyes, but it sure stayed in the sky. I don't know the difference between each type of cloud, but the ones above us screamed, 'you're about to see the storm of your damn life.' Shit, please no. Scared Azail is not a sight for sore eyes or any eyes.