My prelude to Pink’s Try

Millions of tiny, damp footsteps on a stampede coming towards me, 
slipping through holes in the tin roof. 
The waterfall is in my room.

I watch the uneven shower gather into a puddle and decide to creep toward my mattress, bed sheet, and blanket.
I listen as my body lies on sponge.

It is louder at night, like full-on stereo surround sound.

But that's only because the world at night is dark, where everything seems more...intense and in slow motion.

My tiny room seems caught in a photograph, frozen like a suspended moment in the movies, like receiving bad news.

Only time moves

and the damp spot of water soaking the mattress some more.

The downpour is constant, hypnotic. When it changes tempo, it is only changing its direction. 

I remain in my sponge.

The sky and sea can only gather so much water.

The winds howl around in confusion. The footsteps are no longer tiny but of giants slipping on the roof. The sky is angrier with pent-up heat, stoked by cold, wet fears.

It's been raining for days now.

"I am an X in an indeterminate equation. And that X is the rock upon which I stand." - Mario Puzo