D O W N P O U R
he way she so easily walked out on us was like how her name rolled off your tongue, effortlessly. It was a Sunday, and the sky was the kind of grey that youâ€™d expect abandonment to look like. The waves were violent, giving no mercy to the calm untouched shore.
They kept crashing, just crashing, crashing like the broken home we would all soon welcome. Crashing, and crashing. That Sunday would be the last one we all spent together, as one. I remember waking up to the instant feeling of desertion. I was empty, and harsh- like the waves.
Voices literary magazine is produced by the Creative Writing class at Nation Ford High School in Fort Mill, SC.