Wednesday, August 20

My companion and I are leaving home tonight. We wait for the sun's daily hibernation so the journey doesn't suck out the last of our hydration. Blue herons fly to the north. We'll follow the tired wings and hope to find a sanctuary. Rain arrived a few days ago, but no amount of relief. The streets host killings for blood, the only moisture left in this damned place. We'll return when the rain washes the blood from the road.

Before we make our departure I have to see him. It'd be easier to depart without goodbye, but I have to take in all I can. Time leaves familiarities on the horizon, and the face I used to kiss becomes one I can barely see. But time hasn't taken hold yet, and I kiss his sunken cheek. Without water to sink into we've been sinking into ourselves. I'll spare the words of my time with him since probable tears could be fatal. Goodbye has never hurt so much. I don't know when I'll see him again. He'll collect his mother in a couple days and head out like the rest of us.

The sun's been down almost two hours now, so we get on our way. Guilt weighs on me as I think of little Beh and my act of abandonment. Now it seems silly to have shared the water supply with him this past week. But I've already committed three smaller murders to drink the water they once swam. I try to push these thoughts from my head that's been pounding for days. Unshed tears don't help the pain.