Soaked through. -Riley Horlock
Soaked through.
It starts to rain so you get under shelter.
But just because you’re dry doesn’t mean it goes away.
The rain stops.
You walk out from under the shelter and a few drops of water drip from the overflowing gutter.
It got onto your hair but it’s okay, it’s only a few drops, it can’t hurt you.
You wipe the water away.
You’re dry.
But just because you’re dry doesn’t mean it goes away.
Walking home, you get onto an open road.
No pavement, no path, not even a dirt trail to walk through.
You have to walk on the road, trying to avoid the puddles.
You check your phone for a second.
A car drives straight through a puddle.
You’re soaked.
It’s okay, you are gonna get home and dry off.
But just because you’re dry doesn’t mean it goes away.
You try to sleep, but all you can think about is the puddle and the car and the puddle and how you got soaked.
It eats at you while you sleep.
The thought of the puddle and the car and the puddle and how you got soaked.
It’s the next day and you try to forget about it as the day goes on.
It starts to rain.
The same thing happens with the shelter and the overflowing gutter and the road and the puddle and the car and the puddle.
You’re soaked.
Again.
You keep telling yourself that it’s okay and how you are gonna get home and dry off.
But just because you’re dry doesn’t mean it goes away.
You try to sleep, and you get to sleep.
You…forgot.
The puddle and the car and the puddle.
Your brain is released from the mental prison of which is the memory of you getting soaked.
But just because you’re dry doesn’t mean it goes away.
It starts to rain while you sleep.
It gets heavier which then wakes you.
Not because it got too loud, too cold, or even just too annoying.
The rain startled you.
Your brain starts to get vivid pictures of a puddle.
Then a car.
Then a puddle.
You’re soaked.
You’re soaked through.
You get so wet that now every-time you see water, you want to curl up into a ball and for the world to swallow you whole.
But you can’t turn to anyone because of the weight of the soaked clothes you are wearing that you just can’t seem to be able to take off.
Months go by.
Months of the minuscule mental torture that the rain has put you through.
You walk along a bridge one day.
You look over at the water underneath.
You check your phone for a second.
Oops.
You fell off.
You fall through the air with the gut wrenching feeling of getting soaked.
You crash through the surface of the water.
You’re soaked through.
But now that you’re soaked means it’s all gone away.