It’s red out. Magic hour. It’s red out.
I haven’t left the house in three days. Not since the last time it rained. That’s the only time it’s really safe to leave the house, when it’s raining. It keeps the air down. Where it belongs, where you can get at it. I took a walk over to the arboretum. There’s an old greenhouse there. It’s still standing. None of the glass has shattered. It’s brimming with plants.
Everything else rattled and fell down. About six weeks ago. It doesn’t matter.
The greenhouse is full. Everything is pushing at the sides. Big green leaves, big red roses, life in spirals. I can’t fit in the door anymore. One of the vines wrapped around the handle and it won’t turn. I tried breaking the window but they’re made of some kind of plastic. I just made a lot of noise, woke up the wrong people. Had to leave.
I’m going back tomorrow. Rain or shine. They need to get out, I have to help them. They shouldn’t be so cut off. Kept in a big glass box, all the buildings down around them. People scurry by at night. Nobody touches.
It’s grey out. Sad early morning. It’s grey out.
The greenhouse is there. Full. Pressing. Expanding. I only had a moment. Just one. I tried to break the door down. Too much effort, no give. It’s entirely full. Bulging. I couldn’t get in. They don’t want me in there. I made a lot of noise. Had to leave. Immediately. The whole trip was exhausting. It’s difficult to breathe. When I made it home things were going grey, blotchy, black. The door was open, I’d fallen. Hit my face on the radio, lost a tooth. Lost another tooth. Teeth.
I haven’t heard anyone in days. People have stopped moving. Listening. Everything shook again. Everything rumbled and fell. Everything is falling. Nobody’s breathing. Terrible wailing, only the wind, can’t keep it out of my face the walls have all melted. My bones are all rotted, everything’s falling. Think of everything all at once.
Black. It’s black out.
I made it back green glass prism. The air is like spades black and slashing. The buildings have vanished. People all faded. The house is green and creaking and breathing. It’s all over ending. Red. And it’s breaking and blossoming exit exploding. Weeds over erupting. I’m shoved down and crying. Vines wrapping and strangling. The ground is lurching and baking and moving. Lifting and pulling and building and screaming. It’s over and finished and fire and clouds and soot and beginnings.