It Doesn't Matter

          My shoulder strap dug into my arm and my Converse made deep imprints beneath the wet soil I walked on. My favorite black hoodie was weighted by the rain. I stuck my thumbs through some holes in the sleeves, attempting to block the breezes flowing through them.

          The rain continued to fall in relentless sheets over my head, but I had grown used to the cold, the wet, and the otherwise unnerving. Trees carried the raindrops and cradled them in their darkening, dead leaves, before letting them fall down to the earth.

          Mud was splattered across the toes of my sneakers, repressing the layer of Sharpie drawings underneath. I dug the heel into the earth, twisting it and watching the patterns splay out.

          I stood with my arms folded behind my back, twisting my iPod’s cables in my fingers. I was where I meant to be, but not necessarily where I wanted to be. It was still sometimes painful to look.

          I absentmindedly flipped my iPod on, and music flooded my ears. My shoulders fell a little, and I unclenched my jaw.

          I tried so hard, and got so far.

          I finally had the courage to lift my gaze upward. The ruins of an old farmhouse stood. Through the din of the storm, I swore I could hear the sweet sound of old wind chimes, rattling on the front porch. My heart skipped a beat, and I turned away.

          The pain, the loss... it all came back.

          “But in the end, it doesn’t even matter,” I sang. My eyes were wet, and my cheeks were red and soaked. The rain and cold, I thought, convincing myself. Just rain.

          As I sang to myself, I opened my mind in a sort of meditative state. Music could transform me. It could take me from the tragic world we lived in, and it could help me... feel.

          Despite my trying to hold them in, emotions came bubbling out. Everything I held back since my last visit here came out; rage and grief roiled my stomach, while depression tugged at my shoulders. Deathly screams echoed in my ears.

          “Abby! Abby! Where are you?”

          “Mom! I’m right here! Mom!”

          This time I swallowed a salty tear.

          The fire, the smoke; I could feel the heat on my face again, but when I opened my eyes, the only thing there was the rain. I tried to take a deep breath and calm down, but the damage had been done. The guilt was attacking me again. I remembered why I stayed away from here so long.

          I felt as if the bottom dropped from my stomach. I sank down into the mud, not caring whether the stains would come out.

          I deserve it, I deserve it, I deserve it.

          I don’t deserve to even live.

          My body shook with fear. I felt horrible, even now. I was a monstrous, awful human being. Awful, awful, awful.
          That night, the night of the fire; I had snuck into the basement with my Camels and lighter, sneaking in a quick smoke before dinner. Right as the embers lit, I could hear someone coming down the stairs. Panicked, I tossed the cigarette to the other side of the room.

          It was nearly slow motion when I realized what was happening. As it slowly sailed through the air, the burnt end caught on old, torn curtains from years ago. My hopes fell, and I knew what was happening. Smoke curled from the old, floral fabric, and I knew I had to get out.

          Running from the house, fear coursed through me, until I realized that my family was still in the house. I ran back, screaming their names.

          I could feel the heat from incredibly far away, but I kept running. I sprinted further when I heard their screams as the flames spread up the thick wooden sides. I ran, trying to make it to the porch, trying to get them out. But just before I got there, the roof collapsed above it all.

          The last thing I could hear was my little sister’s scream.

          A raindrop right on my eye woke me from the flashback. I shrieked, unable to cry anymore.

          I had to fall, to lose it all.

       I had since quit the cigarettes. But it was still the last thing I thought about before I went to sleep every night of every day.

          Of course the first thing I thought of in the mornings was how many people I killed, so selfishly.

          But in the end, it doesn’t even matter.