He lay on the carpet in his living room with his eyes shut. The bay window was cracked and the morning birds’ song rode in on the warm summer air. A dull roll of thunder sounded in the distance.
He wanted to center himself, or to be sucked into the floor into some hole away from the noise. It wasn’t noise he had created. It was life. It was the day-to-day. It was the people focused on minutiae and material things.
Rain began to tickle the leaves; the drops’ padding on the green providing a rhythm for his thoughts. He drummed his fingers.
He wondered through what lens the world saw him, then reminded himself it didn’t matter. He didn’t care what they thought of him. The opinions of outsiders had no place here, in this blip of life that was his own. Why did no one else see it; how short time was?
The thunder grew louder and he longed to go out and lie on the grass, feeling the cool damp blades upon his back; let the rain wash away his sins.
But did he need to?
Why was it a sin to have a different view or a different outlook? They all told him he was crazy for wanting less, but what did they know? Why did it matter? They didn’t understand how he could not be fueled by consumption.
It wasn’t in him to buck trends, but he was tired of living in the dark. He’d spent years thinking life was about accumulation. He wanted freedom from this need.
A bolt of lightning brightened the sky, and thunder cracked overhead. The birds were quiet now. The storm had arrived, a good, hard, cleansing rain.
He stripped off his shirt and walked outside to embrace it.
