Not Quite Sanguine III

My head was pretty messed up after facing up to that freakish intruder, so after a night of fitful almost-sleep I gathered my belongings and set off. ‘Fuck this town’, that’s the condensed version of what was going through my mind. Uncle Jurgen had a farm upstate, and I figured spending some time with his family might be just what I needed to lighten up and put everything behind me.

What’s that saying about bringing the weather with you?

The colour of the sky right beforehand, that’s what I recall the clearest. It had been a few days since my arrival and the TV forecast had mentioned nothing untoward, but that afternoon… The horizon was ablaze, the heavens all aglow, the Sun had almost set so you could make out the stars shining with ominous intensity. The whole world seemed to bask in the glory of a brilliant display of light an’ colour. It was breathtaking.

If you’d told me that this vista heralded an apocalyptic storm event, maybe something mighta been done…but then hindsight’s 20/20, ain’t it? Maybe I couldn’t have reacted properly event then. Maybe there really is nothing you can do in these circumstances… Fuck that – I can’t let myself off the hook with bullshit platitudes. Even a city boy like me shoulda recognised the warning signs in that skyline and, at the very least, run inside to tell Jurgen what was up.

Maybe then his son would be alive today.


Solidarity, brothers & sisters…

About Seba Roux

Gooner, Socialist, Historian, Slacker. That's pretty much all you need to know.
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