character the cactus

we were wondering whether the weather would wash away all wonders and awful places. it did not mean much, anyway. a bit of nonsense gathered in the beggining of a sprinkled evening, the dampness of the country already filling up our ears and running through our bones. once again the end of the world was a subject of analysis, of questioning, it was the reason of well inverted words. the field of crops increased the void inside, the wind ran softly like our stream of thought, it combed the leaves and our hair. all we had to say had already been said, and despite that we kept exchanging ideas. it was the pleasure of listening and answering back with the first thing that came to mind, being aware that if the world ended, then it would have no significance at all.
the end of everything had become like the orange and purple and pink dusk that we were being witnesses of. only a few of us would be able to see it, a unique experience which would be impossible to communicate, which we would have to keep for ourselves.
the wind stopped as an invitation for the rain to start. the drops began to dot our dry skin. our clothes changed into darker colours, the sun sank completely and we were alone. there was no last wish, no possibility to say the last words. whoever that planned to call somebody to remind their love would find that it was a way too complicated goal to reach.
we knew it. there would be no tragedy, no dramatic music to accompany the varied announcements that would follow. reality doesn't have a soundtrack, we knew it as we knew that heroic attitudes were to die along with the ones who attempted them, that all we'd read and all we'd seen wasn't going to help us to go through all that. those things were to live, to savour them with full awareness of those precise moments, not to remember them in a death bed.
we knew all that and we were soaking in the complete darkness of the country and we were disconected with all that went on away from there, and we thought of the end of the world, of the magic possibility that we had been given, being able to share it with somebody else. we laughed and entered the small cottage.
the next day the rain had stopped and a light fog covered the morning. at midday it had already gone and the field shone bright.
we went outside, felt the fresh breeze which kept away the mosquitoes. after a while we sat down and began to wait for a new end.