The rain keeps falling like a heavenly suicide club, so eager that each droplet barely leaves space for individuality, all the water in the world condensed into a sheet, flagellating itself against the ground. Liquid corpses pool in immortality below my deck, their moaning susurrations drowned beneath the familial patter-splash drumming of the departed. I watch with envy while the water grows, puddles of kismet formed into a body of one mind denied. I’m fascinated by their solidarity and long to acquiesce. I lay myself upon the ground and stare into the clouds, wondering what evaporation feels like.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.