But the loneliness never left me
I always took it with me
It's that time of year.
The rainy season. The shitty season. The season where damp steals the life from sick children and storms spell certain death for their broken mothers who decide to take a swim. The season where you generally drink yourself into a stupor more nights than not, locked in your house or sequestered at the Hanged Man.
Not this year, though, because this year you have a house guest, and a girl you want to impress, and a kid who's taken a shine to you. It's a weird fucking year in the Book of Zephyr.
So might as well add a chapter on praying and round out the bizarre.
You have no real wish to see a god. It isn't why you're here. But you've spent too long trying to drown Ray out, and your kid deserved better than that. So you show up, wet from the rain and clutching an old stuffed dragon that's clearly been well-loved but is now a little moth-eaten in one hand, and a bottle of whiskey in the other because unlike your whole fucking family, old habits do die hard.
"Hey... whoever. Whatever. Look. I don' want any trouble or any god shit, k? Just, I dunno, give me a sign that he's okay. That both of 'em are."
The rainy season. The shitty season. The season where damp steals the life from sick children and storms spell certain death for their broken mothers who decide to take a swim. The season where you generally drink yourself into a stupor more nights than not, locked in your house or sequestered at the Hanged Man.
Not this year, though, because this year you have a house guest, and a girl you want to impress, and a kid who's taken a shine to you. It's a weird fucking year in the Book of Zephyr.
So might as well add a chapter on praying and round out the bizarre.
You have no real wish to see a god. It isn't why you're here. But you've spent too long trying to drown Ray out, and your kid deserved better than that. So you show up, wet from the rain and clutching an old stuffed dragon that's clearly been well-loved but is now a little moth-eaten in one hand, and a bottle of whiskey in the other because unlike your whole fucking family, old habits do die hard.
"Hey... whoever. Whatever. Look. I don' want any trouble or any god shit, k? Just, I dunno, give me a sign that he's okay. That both of 'em are."
but I can put it down
in the pleasure of your company
ZEPHYR
Base Code by Sky!
