You should not walk the streets tonight.
Some nights seem possessed with the possibility for things to go wrong. They hold a heavy kind of anxiety. Not helped by low pressure and storm clouds.
But there is more to them than just the threatening winds and pelting rain.
Barometers, superstition and mercury.
They seem to lay a weight on your very chest, with a promise of some veiled dread that will come stalking darkly out of the rain sodden streets. Throwing open doors. Whistling through hallways. Clattering, shaking floors boards and window panes as it moves up into your home.
And it is around you now.
The low sounds of the thunder or the wind.
You recline weak; weary from the pressure that stifles your heart beat and knots your shoulder blades. Making tea to comfort yourself.
Some part of your mind cannot help but think: something is going to happen.
The last of the milk.
As you consider a trip to the 24 hour store for more, you envision yourself as amad king in a tempest.
A freak traffic accident.
The sound of the sirens and ominous blue flashing lights
A quite hand in the darkness.
The words: “it could have been anyone”
These are the things that take us from our loved ones in the dark.
In the wind and the rain.
This is what hangs over us like a raven on our front doors.
You should not walk the streets tonight, you have been told since you were a child.
Fear of being washed into the gutters and swept away by sprites where no one will ever find you. The realm of half imagined calls echoed from down dark ally ways. Rain dogs and lost boys.
Wait ‘till morning you tell yourself wrapped beneath your duvet.
It will all feel better in the morning.