The night moans and the sirens wail…

Image Credit: Etsy
Image Credit: Etsy

The windows are open wide allowing a teasing scent of rain, the hint of respite that will never arrive, but there is no breeze to cool the aching flesh.  The walls pulsate under the pressure.  Skin sticks to sheets.  The oppressive heat weights the air, clogging lungs, until breaths come in gulping gasps.  Tossing and turning, the sheets in shambles, the minutes of the night pass one drip of sweat at a time.

Lights splash against the ceiling as the tires’ squeal is drowned under the doppling siren.  One more selfish rant against the world for hording the elusive sleep and deserved relief.  Toss.  Turn.  Toss.  Turn.  Sweat.  Repeat.  A choked moan escapes cracked lips and is swallowed by eternity.

The night moans and the sirens wail…

Image Credit: Frank Capria
Image Credit: Frank Capria

The call squawks over the radio, selfish moans are given voice, and the light bar goes to work.  Tires slip and squeal on the wet pavement, the heat pulling the moisture from the ground, until purchase is found and the bus hurtles into the night.  The deserted street welcomes the company and bids good luck.  Time, as always, is of the essence when a life needs saving.

Sweat pools at the bases of necks and drips down backs, hot on hot, offering no relief.  The air blasting from the vents is nothing but a harsh reminder of the constant throbbing warmth in all places the conditioned air doesn’t reach.  Dry lips are licked and forgotten in the war between hold and cold buffets of air.  The siren loops and the echoes bounce and tremble off the tiny houses of the residential street.

The night moans and the sirens wail…

Image Credit: kshillaker
Image Credit: kshillaker

The day had been so intensely hot, who could have expected the ground to be wet.  A timid step placed incorrectly was all it took to slip and tumble down.  The concrete was not kind in its greeting.  A moan of pain and grief rent the darkness.  Shapes hovered vaguely and then were swallowed by the night as slaps of footfalls sped away.  It was amazing how hot it was.  Still.  The disappearance of the sun hadn’t brought any relief.

But, there, something different, a small area of cool spreading out from the spine, warding off the blistering of the pavement.  The forehead sweat running down both cheeks was forgotten as a bright spot of selfish enjoyment crept in for the first time in days.  The spot grew and the feeling, the touch of chill, was accented by the approaching sirens.  It was a magical sound that reverberated up from the ground and engulfed the rent flesh.


21 thoughts on “selfish

    • Ah, to be young and in love. I remember those days. Yeah, wrote the first part of this last night as I was trying to fall asleep, and I could feel the heat weighing down on me. Our ceiling fans do an amazing job of moving the air around so it never feels all that bad except for a few weeks out of the year.

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