For Thy Peace, My Soul

2.

Tuesday. Every Tuesday, the sun smoldered a sickly jaundiced yellow, no matter the season. Its putrescent gaze oozed like a sore in the wounded sky. It bled light onto my skin until sanity eroded.

Even when heavy clouds covered that detestable star, they seemed bloated like a week old corpse filled with maggots instead of acid rain. Each droplet a stinging reminder of what I should’ve done a long time ago.

And still refused to do.

Guilt prevented me. Fear stayed my hand. I denied the malignant spirits that churned, arms reaching, when I passed. I glared and grumbled. Solve your own problems, I have my own burdens to carry. They never listened.