My Favorite Place

The resentment inside of me burns with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns. While I stand in my favorite place, every violent thought and vulgar statement can find it's way out of my battered soul. My sanctuary, my haven, is outside in the obscurity of a thunderstorm. A thunderstorm with  a torrential downpour, suicidal winds, blaring thunder, and viscous lightning. Let me share with you the sights, sounds, tastes, and feelings I've had.
While I’m standing alone, The discharges crash all around my half conscious soul. The harsh rain endlessly precipitates  downward from the heavens above like fallen tears from sorrowful angels and the crackles and wisps of lightning are the resentment and hatred they once felt in their bleeding hearts. The shadows conceal me, piercing my exposed soul and giving me a sense of being bound to eternal darkness. In my skull I see the faces of those who are guilty of forgetting me, and they are the ones who have filled me with this bitterness and tortured me into this craze. I slowly close my eyes and give attention to the sounds.
I become aware of the growling thunder and take notice to each raindrop shattering as it collides with the cold, hard pavement. When I scream, the discord dies down as if the sky is suppressing itself to hear me out. But when I stop, the noise just gets more earsplitting than before and raindrops intensify like they’re competing with me. The distant sound of car engines roar through the air, but because of my shrieks and sudden outcries, they’re muffled and almost completely drowned out. By this time I have an unbearable headache and it feels like I’ve been thrown headfirst into a brick wall. I forget about the sounds and stop to consider the tastes in my mouth.
I can’t tell the difference between the salty taste of the tears I cry and sweat rolling down my lips. Then I feel the warmth on my tongue and taste the thick, bitter, sickening flavor of my own sanguine fluid. Eventually, I tire myself out and get so worked up and bent out of shape that I regurgitate the last morsels of food in my stomach and acknowledge the taste of vomit mixed with blood, sweat, and tears and can’t think of a worse combination. I simply spit and assess the pain I’ve inflicted and received.
The lethal winds blow at an angle, making it feel like bullets grazing me and then sliding off of my raw flesh. The rain is physically tearing me apart, yet, at the same time, mentally putting me back together and soothing my wounds. As I start to calm myself, I feel the sharp pain of newly received bruises and fresh cuts I must have gotten from throwing my fists at random objects. While I try to wipe tears away from my eyes I only defeat the purpose by smearing dark red blood all over my face. Whatever part of me it may be, I just let the pain overtake me. But oddly, it doesn’t hurt me quite as much as it makes me feel better. Then I start to become tired and weary fading in and out of consciousness, and drag my exhausted body into the comfort of my own house. I’d never feel like cleaning up so I’d just slip out of my drenched clothes, do a lousy job of drying off, and being so out of it, put forth all of my remaining energy in pulling my cramping legs up the seemingly longer staircase only to drop into my bed to drift off into an unconscious state called sleep.
As I reflect upon these moments, my favorite place to be is outside in a fatal thunderstorm. There, I can express myself by letting my anger go. I, in a strange way, have made this my sanctuary. Too bad it seems to come and go. Go out and find yours. You’ll thank me for it. I promise, it will do you as much good as it’s done me.

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