On The Wings Of A Flood: Chideziri POV

After four months of complete drought, March releases the first rains. 

Rooftops turn red with dust filled water, dust that accumulated over the dry season. Children play around under the rain, splashing in puddles. 

I spend half of most days in second term numb and staring. Staring at the teacher, at the writing on the board that makes no sense to me whatsoever, at the wall clock hung above the marker board. Then I spend the other half of the day noticing I'm numb and staring. 

In church, I no longer swing my shoulders to the music. I don't listen to J.Cole anymore. 

She is too everywhere. Too present to be so absent. My clothes smell of rain-beaten leaves, of abandonment, of freshly written poems. How hard I scrub makes no noticeable difference. Weeks after January the sixth, my knuckles are red and raw from trying to scrub her away, and failing to. 

She is too everywhere. 

I learn to stay in my room, curtains drawn