I listened to the eerie, pained squeals and screeches of the trains in the distance. It was a hot summer's night. I was burned, burned real bad. Parts of my chest, my neck, my back, my face, and almost all of each leg were burnt to a bright pink, which made all the parts of me that hadn't seen sun, appear so much more stark and pale.
I laid half naked on my bed, being very careful not to move too much, and to coach every move I did make. I thought about how I got myself into this mess, and I did. There was no one to blame but myself.
After I returned home from my long, unprotected stay at the beach, I looked at myself in the mirror and realized the severity of what would soon be my anguish. I laughed to myself. What else can one do? I knew that crying - though I am not the crying type, anyways - would only make me feel even more achy and sore, which I didn't need. So I just laughed at my hot pink, splotchy body. I knew it would certainly be good conversation piece.
That hum and rustle in the middle of the night was calming to me, at a time in my life that I was burned to a gnarly crisp. I dozed off carefully, to the peaceful ruckus of something that seemed to sound more painful that my sunburn felt.
