To Home

My white shoes are ruined,

drowned by rainwater.

I splash through,

clasping onto my umbrella

running,

a refuge of the night,

towards home.

My clothes are drenched,

hair soaked, face covered with

clear, malleable sheets of water.

I heave, breathing heavily,

unable to catch that breath of air

I seem to be leaving behind.

Cars speed by, their silver rims

spin incessantly above the rainwater.

I shiver from the cold,

clinging onto my wet clothes for heat.

I arrive in front of an empty church,

sanctuary away from the bad weather.

The door is locked.

I stand outside, waiting for a sign.

Purple drapes the entire sky,

a silk cape dressing the darkness.

I stare briefly at my saber,

a red and white umbrella,

and head home.