The Sun My Destiny by Smith Logan Ryan

Author:Smith, Logan Ryan [Smith, Logan Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07FS88WSR
Goodreads: 40919922
Publisher: Transmission Press
Published: 2018-07-23T07:00:00+00:00

PART TWO

22

“This way!” I yell into the wind at Joyce, who’s only a few feet in front of me. The wind’s as thick and heavy as a mountain of rusty refrigerators and it’s pushing me back, away from Joyce. We were on a stroll after visiting Rosa and Petunia at The Library. Joyce read to me from The Aeneid and let me place my head to her heart while she read about poor Dido (she thought I was trying to hide my tears!). I relished in the story, as well as her metallic, dusty, and salty scent, and the soothing tone of her voice set to the beat of her heart. We weren’t far from The Library when I felt the first waft of God’s Breath. I knew it immediately. God’s Breath always starts with a huff, as if God suddenly realized how bored she was with all of this—us and this planet of garbage. And so God huffs and sighs. It’s hot and quick at first. There’s one, two, three, and then God tries to blow everything away, like Papa erasing drawings he decided were no good. God wants to start over. So far she’s failed, but what do I know? Maybe God’s Breath, over the course of time, will erase the planet. And while it may feel like thousands of years to us humans, perhaps it’s just a few days or even a few minutes to God. Thus, she seems to be in no real rush. Not to us, at least.

“Come on!” I yell against that fat, forceful gale. “This way!” I reach through the heavy curtains of wind to take Joyce’s hand.

“Where are we going?” Joyce shouts, her face strained, her eyes tearing up from the smacking gusts. Just then a large crunching, clicking, and cracking sound whips up from the earth. Behind Joyce a cyclone of garbage twists into the low sky. It’s not the biggest one I’ve seen, but it’s pretty big and as bits of metallic debris fly past us I don’t have to be reminded how dangerous they are, no matter how big or small. In the cyclone, I can see objects as big as flat-screen TVs flying.

“We’re going to The Cellar Door!” I tell Joyce, holding onto her hand not only to keep her from being torn from the earth into one of those trash twisters, but to keep myself from being sucked up into one, as well. Fortunately, The Cellar Door is in the opposite direction and instead of running as if under water, we’re gliding eastward, our feet barely skimming the earth, traveling almost as fast as when Sam hoists me upon his shoulders and gallops like all those beautiful extinct horses I’ve read about.

“What about Terrance?” she asks as our bodies are turned into billowing ship sails.

I ignore her and she asks about Sam and I tell her the big lug will be just fine—that there’s no twister on the planet that could possibly wrench that mountain from the earth.

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