I had been sitting in a hole watching dark clouds pass. A long time ago I cried. And then I stopped doing that.
I started looking at all these ugly rocks around me. Little rocks and big rocks. They all looked ugly in the light which strained through the clouds. I decided to start throwing the rocks out of the hole.
A smile appeared on my face; I assume. Those were happy times, or a happy time.
But the rocks started coming back. I still remember the horror of seeing that first small stone with its soft thump. I think knew this stone, I must have seen it before. In a great rage I hurled it out.
With greater purpose I started on the rest of the stones. I assume my face grew rougher and my smile must have disappeared. But it was with no less passion that I resumed my work.
At first my heart was appeased, until two stones fell. I should have known and I guess I did.
I started finding the larger stones. I told myself if I was going to throw larger stones, it should be more worth the effort. I think I already knew.
When larger stones started coming back, I started screaming with my throws. The wind now had company in its voice. And sometimes the wind would scream a little too. Finally, conversation.
The shock of the first stone which hit me… I don't want to write about it.
I looked at the blood on the stone. My eyes became the blood on the stone. The sky become the blood on the stone. And soon from the sky came more blood.
I don't stop screaming now. The wind doesn't stop screaming. The stones don't stop coming. But at least now my hole has a story.
But now I realize as the stones thrown back carry the same maggots that now cover my legs that I should have checked to see if the blood on that first stone was wet or dry.