Liquid Smoke

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I wondered how it had come to this.

No. That wasn’t right.

I knew exactly how it had come to this.

Lightning shattered the sky and raked the black surface of the ocean.

The rain spilling out from above hit my face and body like a shower as I stood on my patio, soaking me and the duffel bag slung over my shoulder.

The water stung the cut above my eye and grew the bloody stain on my shirt.

I knew that I wouldn’t ever stand on this patio again, stare at this view again, live in this home again.

Thunder rolled off the Pacific like it was coming through a megaphone, rattling the windows and doors of all the homes on the boardwalk. The rain picked up velocity, splashing into the puddles on the ground.

I wiped the water from my eyes and took another look, making sure that all of it—my home, the view, this world I had created for myself—would never leave my memory.

I knew that it wouldn’t. And I knew that the memories of the last month wouldn’t leave me either.

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