Swampy Vacation
Walking down the concrete stairs of my old backyard, the fist thing I noticed is the black body of water resting like an old corpse in its coffin. It is a laked, I supposed, but it looked more like a river that stood still. Its longer length runs for miles, and its width is only forty yards across. Glistening off the surface, I can see a whole rainbow of chemicals just waiting to sing their teeth into something living. Speaking of which, there were turtles sitting on a dead tree branch out in the middle. Sort of an organic island resort in the middle of a chemical wasteland. If I moved too swiftly the little guys would scare and jump into the abyss. That might have ruined their vacation.
I turned my head to the left toward the overpowering smell of some lifeless animal. The tall grass, no longer green, tried to hide the creature from me. The black, brown and gray colors surrounded the bloated body. I hardly recognized it to be a cat. Its disproportioned size must mean it's about to explode. I will avoid that area for a while.
I didn't trust the water, not anymore, not since I was a child. It was ugly back then, but I was a kid and didn't know any better. I would swim in it and have only a partial fear of what lurked underneath. I can remember accidentally swallowing some of that foul water. Tasted like laundry soap mixed in bug spray. My brother had gotten sick from it once, and we stayed clear of it since.
The late afternoon sky was hard to see what all the cloud cover, making this gloomy place all the more unpleasant. I remember it always being cold, too, shadows everywhere ready to jump on my behind every corner. the air had a solidity to it and felt rough like the hands of a brutal stone god. Now, the air was gritty and still had the same cruel quality. Cold and uncaring, the air bit with teeth as sharp as razors.
Cypress trees grew all along the side of the lake. When the wind blew through them I could hear them cry. Only one grew here in my backyard. Its limbs were slumped over as though it were decrepit, gray moss and faded gray-green leaves hanged like the bearded of an old man. i could almost see the weeping of its tears of pain. The almost non-existent life of this place provides little company. The bugs are no company at all.
The noise of the locust send throbbing pulsed of pain in my ears. I can feel their siren alarm steadily hitting me with each wave of attack. At the same time a swarm of mesquitos bombarded my exposed flesh like shots fired from a machines gun. Standing there swatting at the flies, I could not hold my balance. Stumbling for the tall dead grass, I smell the mistake I made in going in the direction. I back off only to trip over a piece of wood with a nail in it, scratching deep in my lower left leg across the bone. the I land on a piece broken bottle. the glass cutting as clean as rusty scalpel into my left cheek. After being here a while, I learned to ignore the torture these insects cause. After being here a while, I learned to ignore the agony of everything.