It rained today.

I had been up since 5:30, awoken by the sound of the rain. The sounds of the water falling against my window served as a reminder of many details of my past.

Memories included the time that my classmates were chosen by two team captains to play some kickball, but since there were an odd number of students I was the odd one out and as such I was the one who had to run out into traffic to get the ball, and sometimes to do so when there was no ball.

Or the time I drank some odd looking apple juice out of a clear container in my dad’s fridge when I was eleven. It was actually beer, and I became a raging alcoholic until I sobered up thanks to AA at the age of fourteen. Twelve years sober and counting!

A few years ago I had some issues and went to what I thought was a registered psychologist. Turns out she was actually a reverse psychologist. I told her about how stressed out I was, she agreed with me and I immediately got better.

It had reminded me of the time that, with the aid of a panda, I had massaged the soil of a potted plant until the plant shrunk and I grew a copy of myself large enough to consume the entire planet. 

Lastly I thought about the time I had watched in despair, soaking wet, as a cat ran over my bike. Well, okay. The cat was technically a lion and I guess I should be thankful I escaped with my life but that bike was of a perfect color and I didn’t know where to buy the paint to repaint it!

In short, it reminded me of simpler times . . .

If the US government can't be bothered to keep operating, then I can't be bothered to color this all the way in.

If the US government can’t be bothered to keep operating, then I can’t be bothered to color this all the way in.

I need to massage something right now.‏

My hands quiver as I feel the need to just rub something gently. I look around the city street I’m on. Not a single person in sight, although massaging random people is just creepy anyway.

The rain falls heavy creating an extremely familiar atmosphere. I’m drenched, the street is drenched, the buildings are drenched but somehow I don’t feel wet at all. I look around. A fire hydrant, various doors without knobs, street lights and stairs. None of these will do any good to me now.

I keep running. I run until I can’t feel feelings, only the pounding of my bare feet against the sidewalk. I see a potted plant. Yes, this will work. I shove my hands into the soil and enjoy the gloopy sensation.

A panda joins me. He gives me a panda suit as a salutation. I change into the suit and we knead the soil together. The sky begins to change color. It becomes various shades of magenta. The flower that was in the pot has shrunk away and has been replaced by a small man.

That man is me.

From the pot I start to sing. I’m now watching myself knead the soil around me from a smaller set of eyes and a new perspective. I sing the song of attrition. At the same time I sing the song of growth from my old perspective to counteract myself.

I grow from the pot as the pot grows with me. I have become much taller than myself and although my feet are in the earth my head is now in the clouds. I frighten off the panda and myself, but it is okay. I have done what I had to do to help me grow.

Reaching down and grabbing handfuls of the planet below me I begin to eat it. I eat and eat until the planet is no more. This takes years. Space is my home now, and the pot is the only thing I know. I believe I have feet but I can’t be sure for I haven’t seen them since I began rubbing the soil.

An asteroid breaks the pot. The soil spills out and to my horror I have become the soil. I have been essentially ripped apart and as my body is spread throughout the universe I black out from the pain.

I wake up in a grassy field. And only the panda suit remains.