Owen
The night was heavy, thick with the scent of rain that hadn’t fallen yet, hanging in the air like it was waiting for something to break. I could feel the humidity sticking to my skin, the soft kind of heat that you couldn’t shake off.
Up here, on the roof, everything felt different. The world below was small—almost like a toy set—and I could pretend that I was far away from the mess. But in my gut, I knew I wasn’t. It was always there. The weight of it.
The roof creaked a little beneath me as I settled down against the edge, legs dangling over the side, my hands gripping the rough shingles.
I stared at the moon, bright and cold against the sky. It was full tonight, and the glow made everything else fade into the background—quiet, like the night itself was holding its breath.
My
