HE WILL COVER YOU WITH HIS FEATHERS, AND UNDER HIS WINGS YOU WILL FIND REFUGE.

PSALM 91:4

She scribbled the words onto the pages of her journal, the scribing soothing her mind as the plane jolted with continuous turbulence. Her pen glided swiftly over the paper, splurging its ink onto the lines as the captain's voice boomed through the speakers with information she adjudicated to ignore at that moment. The seatbelt warning bleeped through the cabin.

Refuge- the word in itself is really rather illusive, isn't it? Where is the refuge from ones erosive mind? Where does one run- where does one hide if the thing they intend to hide from is themselves? Wrap them with your wings and let your feathers ruffle them to sleep but the monstrous thoughts will lurk like a cancerous omen, patiently still there to greet them when they awake. So, where is the refuge from the tragedy of self hatred?

Tapping her pen on the corner of the page in thought, she glanced out of the window at the tops of skyscrapers that reached out of the clouds. The thick smog of pollution and muck clung to the city of New York like a disease, the state of it all a hideous sight to her. But as she continued to study the city, a stewardess interrupted her mind by announcing she needed to compose herself for landing.

"Sorry- yes, I won't be a minute," she stammered as the stewardess tightened her expression, an indication she needed to pack her stuff right away as she towered over her shoulder. She grew tense, sensing the stewardess' lurking presence beside her and so added timidly, "I don't intend to be rude, but please- I uh, don't like people standing over my shoulder whilst I write," she fumbled with her words nervously, forcing a small smile to relieve the awkwardness.

"My apologies," the stewardess retorted sharply, sheepishly retracting before twisting on her heel to assist a family three rows behind. Her heels clicked against the aisle's flooring as she approached the family, striking wonder into the girl over how large a health hazard that was. But once confident she was a safe distance, she drew in a deep breath and brought her pen back onto the paper.

A declaration of a better day is a verbal distraction to divert your agony into a useless hope. Tragedies do pass, but human beings are not tragedies so how does one rid the disease in their mind? You can't rid the sea of the reefs and expect the ecosystem to not collapse, so how do you kill the mind without destroying its occupant? Or am I delving into dark matters that I cannot even begin to comprehend? And how much sense does one have to speak before they lose their minds too?

- Sawyer

"Well damn Sawyer-" her eyes shot wide as she slammed her journal shut, a voice from behind her breaking her trance, "that's deep."

Her heart battered against her chest as the man spoke, her breathing unsteady as the person continued to rest over her head-res whilst peering down onto her. She melted in humiliation.

"T-thanks," she squeaked, tucking a strand of hair behind her left ear quickly and nervously as she shuffled her journal away.

"Didn't mean to spy in on you, my curiosity got the best of me," the man added as her panic still rattled on before his eyes landed on the spare seat beside her, "mind if I sit there? Don't want to be annoying but man-"

She quickly shuffled her stuff from the spare chair beside her to the eating desk, "of course," an additional small effort to quickly shift the attention from her and allow the man to sit. She felt ashamed and if her cheeks weren't as hot as a furnace in that moment, maybe furnaces weren't as hot as thought.

"Thank you," he smiled to the girl, sitting beside her before adding, "you know, what you wrote in that- you should come visit my workplace, the veterans would appreciate a new face."

She avoided his eye contact before forcing the quietest of awkward chuckles, "no, I don't really do that stuff-"

"Holy crap, my manners," he interrupted her, stretching out his hand, "I'm Sam by the way, Sam Wilson," he added causing her to gaze up to him and smile bleakly.

"I'm Sawyer- but then you know that," she turned to him with a small laugh before she shook his hand. She couldn't deny the fact she felt naked, her raw and uncut emotions having been read by a complete stranger.

"Great to meet you Sawyer," he shook before they broke contact, Sawyer shuffling back into her seat as he added curiously, "so, Sawyer, what business did you have in Ohio?"

"Oh, uh-" she began, the embarrassment of her tale already dawning on her, "I, uh- I was actually in Thailand for the third time volunteering but I booked the wrong flight home again, so I had to book this as soon as I landed in Ohio to get back to Washington, D.C," she rambled, "how about you?" she quickly retorted to shift the focus.

"Really?" He sounded astonished, Sawyer instantly acknowledging he also intended to shift the subject and so respecting his wishes, nodded with a genuine smile. "Must have been quite heart breaking," he solemnly added, his attention suddenly drawn to the isle of people standing up to collect their items.

She remained awkward with a silent nod as she realised he wasn't entirely paying attention to her anymore as he shuffled in his spot, rather more like he was rushing to get off of the plane. She could feel his attention being sucked from her as he suddenly sprang to his feet to collect his bag above them, but she secretly relished in the fact she'd soon not have to socialise at all once home.

"So yeah," Sam smiled, extending out his hand once more, "I hope to see you around Sawyer, you're gifted alright?"

Her face flushed with a furious blush as she forced a small laugh, "thank you," she scrambled. At her response, he gave her a slight salute and smile before following the other passengers down the step ladder and onto the runway.

⌁

She dropped her hefty luggage with a content sigh as she shut her apartment door, the familiar scent of an old, tarnished piano and unspoiled paint wrapping her in the comforts of home. Smiling softly to herself, she flipped her shoes off of her feet and allowed her bare feet to pad along the wooden flooring of her hallway as the creeks of her footsteps whispered little retorts of 'welcome home'.

Patters of raindrops began to pitter on her large framed windows which portrayed a perfect view of the street and allowed an over burst of light to illuminate her living room - had the curtains been open - but she refrained from opening them and instead dived onto her sofa, sprawling herself out tiredly.

Her apartment was the bottom floor cheap shack which she'd managed to give a life to with her style and patience. After months of cleaning and modernising, the apartment was finally pristine white with her colourful art, drafts of stories, poems and beloved instruments that littered the place from time to time, being the only things that gave her home its spritely personality.

Glancing over to her luggage at the door, she demanded herself to detain some self control and refrain from writing for the shortest moment. Returning her attention back to the ceiling, she grumbled and glanced back over to her luggage. When had she ever had self control? And so, flipped her legs over the edge of the sofa and made her way towards her backpack.

She unzipped it, sitting cross legged as she fished through its contents for her journal. Shuffling the contents around, her fingers brushed against the familiar hardcover of her journal and she softly smiled.

Retrieving her journal, she made her way to her bedroom. Plopping it onto her bed, she made a quick change into her pyjamas and jumped into her bed, pulling a pen from the spine of her journal. Flicking through the pages, she found the next empty page and relaxed, her mind flickering back to Sam.

Today I met Sam Wilson.
He seemed awfully eager to read my work and seemed a kind man. He explained he worked with veterans, maybe he is a veteran- perhaps he was drafted before I moved here? I oddly hope I see him again, but I've just got back so I shouldn't wish life away so quickly.

It's currently raining, and like you know I've always adored the rain; it's as though the world intends to cleanse itself. But yes, in all honesty, my mind is currently still wrapped around Sam's words which have inspired me. Isn't it odd how a few words can influence a persons mood for the entire day?

- Sawyer

Sighing, she run a hand through her hair before she closed her journal, placing it beside her on her bed. Drawing out a breath, she then furrowed her eyebrows as she sensed a soft sudden presence beside her. But with a quick glance down to her right, she immediately jumped to her feet in fright.

A stray hound sat staring up at her- in her apartment! Its fur caked in wet mud and muck but its brown, doe eyes stared up at her intently.

She froze, slightly taken back, "how on Earth did you get-"

In an instant, the dog took off, dashing out of her bedroom which pried her to instinctively chase after it. Darting through her apartment, she momentarily slipped on the wooden flooring before her hopes depleted completely as the dog sprinted out of her front door.

Instantly, she slipped to a stop by her front door, staring out at the empty street which was drenched by the pouring rain. She frowned. The dog clearly didn't have a home due to its poor state and this bothered her like an unreachable itch. Rubbing her arms at the nipping cold, she shut her front door before freezing, the looming aspect dawning on her; her front door was shut and last she knew, dogs were not capable of opening them?