cw.suicide

 

lustrous wind spinners of great weight fed into the soil and EZ-Breeze Batteries laid under each house. on days of roaring gusts, the cities beamed light into space. children waved their arms with wind toys to charge their game stations. the outer skin of every building was dressed in iridescent solar sheets, like sundresses in the confidence and comfort of a sunny still day where dim lights draw citizens to windows. the night life bellows in storms, competes with thunder, likens brilliance to chaos. on a few farm fields, large chutes capture Dyson sphere beams of light that power hospitals and the government. Breeze is corporate, wind is culture. love felt like small gales on the nape, though sex still sold like a wind tunnel. here are three examples.

 

two sisters took the third and youngest out to a storm show for her legal age birthday. they waited in line soaking for ten minutes before getting singled out by the bouncer. “Look,” an older sister said, “he’s inhaling,” and they cracked up. inside the youngest had her first Hurricane, a stirred multi tequila cocktail. dancing and cheering to Big Mast Bounce, the middle sister asked for take out after they leave. “i’m gonna die if we don’t hit up Lee’s on the kite home.” sitting around the fast food joint, they admired the first sister’s ring, air polished as a part of her one year anniversary gift. the third wondered if she felt the sweep of a shoulder that might give her an air polish that night.

 

a father and physicist tightened screws into photovoltaic sheets over the highlands. below, the burbs rippled on the valleyside. his kids attended school in the public city system, just barely teens. he gets a call that his daughter’s best friend wrapped a SuperSail around her neck and had her spine snapped. he removed his coat and felt the air cut through him. his trip downtown, weighted by concern, met traffic from low wind delays. He takes a choppy call from his teary daughter while downwind from a large building. “remember when you were little in the bathtub,” he begins, “you thought you could blow a water bubble around you to protect you. can you blow like you’re filling up your bubble?” large puffs over the phone and then the line drops. when he gets to the school, she’s still hyperventilating, severely distressed. “come get warm” he says. they pull away and she sniffles out. “how much of me is getting blown away?” “all of you,” he says. the window rolls and she cries. the dog walkers hide from their pets pissing on roadside turbines. “some turbines stop turning, and where one limb may look happy, the other limb gets off balanced. some repairs take many people, plenty of time, and a bit of luck; you never know when the storm will come through to undo everything. you have to find the working turbines in you, not the broken ones.”

 

two lovers grew still with sail-sagging hearts since one of them knew the end was nearing and the other knew the first believed in this. he said, “i know you don’t feel us breathing no more.” she grievedly emptied her lungs. the floorboard reflections swelled beneath them in the morning gusts. the lights got big some would say. building dresses swept against the brick bodies, while hers sat in flawless folds. “i need you to hear me over that wind in your head baby.” she was on a shallot sand beach elsewhere, with a greyness blurring the horizon. she watched the waters greeness comb over with whitewash tides. she said, “i don’t hear any of it.” he moved his hands from his knees to his hips and rolled his large body deeper into the chair. the windows clattered like a quiet cough or an airy prayer. the distance between them funneled and lifted the grey pencils and the theology books and and the pockets of their clothes and made the lights all bright. he was buzzing in his head from knowing things, feeling the ricochet of little bees off waving petals. “you don’t let me hear you breathing no more. ain’t it different when you let me hear you breathe hun?” and the wind said many things in passing that had to do with the trifles of others. “is this where the wind lands?” she said.

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