rainBowery

The meteorologist declared snow tonight. The good kind-- a thinly cut and finely powdered shower of porcelain that one jittery teen would dive in to with his razor and stir-straw, ready to make an angel. ... Or perhaps a hornet, the granules rushing up one nose canal, stinging like the overzealous CO2 bubbles popping on top of a freshly poured fountain drink. Maybe it wasn't snow, but instead rock salt, sprinkled over the ice for dissipation. Either way, they both burned and made the nose occasionally orgasm in an offering of bloody snot-cum.

Large brown eyes came to a close as the slug of a drip slowly slid down the back of his throat, opening again only after the tail-end of the chemical slime trail had been flushed away with a few sniffs and swallows. Nights like these were spent in a restless, sleepless state. He couldn't tell if he was shaking from the cold or the snow, if he was itching from his clothes or the rocks.

Tweet was brilliance brewing, only beginning to come to fruition in a mess of colored cans and cockney; a spitfire spat for every hatred had. Being only seventeen, the fruit of his knowledge was still quite unripe, bearing an unpolished exterior and small girth. He often thought of peaches, only because he had heard tales of their murderous rage; their wrinkly hard center-seed, tainted with poison. However, he knew that peaches, as a whole, were no longer safe to eat. They grew on government planted trees of lies, social worker picked and placed, packing plant processed to produce a faux-safe meal punched full of preservatives that was pushed to the people to satisfy their huge appetites, comfort their establishment-fearing tummies-- for the growls from the stomach of the hungry, if ignored for too long, were deafening, a most unpleasant and unruly ruckus.

An exhale escaped from the smallest slit given birth to between the boy's chapped lips. Oftentimes he would go wake his companion from slumber for entertainment, be it a game of cards, a story or walk, or whatever he felt up to, but on this night, he had been gifted a present-- colored chalks-- and he intended to spend the entire night putting them to use inside of the rundown warehouse that Pook and he shared.

Bony fingers pried open the box and pulled out the first color: red.