Comfort and melancholy tucked into endless rain drops. The gentle rain spoke softly to the earth. The storm wreaked havoc between the land and the sky.
A gloomy day like this suited for what yet has to come.
The sounds of water trickled beneath the ground.
Silver drops falling from leaf to leaf.
Days have passed, but night perseveres.
Pieces of light ebbing in between the clouds.
It was a simple small town covered by mountains and tangents of forests.
There was no place in this town where you could hide from the vines of mother nature.
The color of green could never escape your eyes.
There is nothing but a tree that cannot be in sight.
It's been sometime since the last time someone new came.
But it's a stable town with loving and kind people.
There is prosperity in the work they do in the fields. Small towns like these smelled like comforting ignorance, but to newcomers a sublime taste of escape from all their forgotten worries.
He was a mild-mannered person, a bit of a recluse who spoke too little but was always kind to the townsfolk. He was construed as enigmatic to most who crossed him.
He lived on the edge of town, away even further from the world.
There wasn't much to know about him. He often didn't speak much less even exist.
From the outside his house seemed petite.
His bedroom window had a direct view of his backyard.
He was in bed, unbothered by the heavy rain and the chaos brought by the thunderstorm.
5:15 AM as the alarm clock beepily screamed. The only noise that woke him up.
He gently tapped on the clock and turned on the light.
His hair was a whirlwind of darkness with shades of white light. His faceless appearance is shadowed by the abysmal room.
He slowly stood up on his feet and started heading to the bathroom, turned on the light and the showerhead started to send echoes outside of the bathroom, pouring more water than the rain had.
His room had told a story. It spoke of a tale, longing for what was once joy. Even the hallways of his house said the same. But each room told a different story, but the feeling was still there.
Each item in the room is placed so perfectly and filled with decorative items with an evocative aesthetic of darkness brimming with light. Plants with beige colored pots. A book shelf with endless rows of items. A systemized computer set up. brushes of paint and notebooks all over.
Each object was trying to speak but its voices withered apart.
He came out of the bathroom, fully clothed with a morning set of clothes.
He made his bed.
He grabbed a coffee mug from his bed table.
He sat down on the side of his bed, drinking green tea. His eyes locked into the thunder strike, feeling the vibrated echoes of the storm that slowly struck into the mountains. His gaze peered through the window so intensely, you could wonder what he was truly looking at - the storm, his reflection in the window or us.
....
The train only moved when the wind was suspended in the air. The rumbling had covered the train. The air resisting the train's immovable nature.
He had sat down next to an older lady and a child who was screaming for the attention of their grandmother. The child had calmed down when the older lady offered the young boy candy. His eyes slowly observing the child and the older lady. Seeing how much they loved each other.
His face changed direction, trying to look at something else.
Three other people sitting in front of him with farther distance in between.
A man in his late 40s as he casually moves up his gray hair trying to hide it. Reading an informational pamphlet trying to distract himself to his inevitable departure. He reads
"Thunder has struck again into the city. Scientists have been noticing weird seismic changes and the special buoys have been signaling us…." His mind was so fixated on his hair, he couldn't read a thing.
Then he faces his direction to the opposite of the man, he sees two girls whispering to each other. Smiling and softly laughing. The girl on the right was excited that her crush had finally confessed to her. The girl on the left pretends to be excited as her face hardens each time she smiles when her friend giggles in excitement.
He chooses to look away again, the people he saw passing by.
Emptiness started to invoke within the lines of the world, but masked by its everlasting peace atmosphere.
The train had moved through all the mountains and passing trees. Capturing each moment anew, where all the passerbys coming in and out, seeping new tales from their souls.
He saw all of that.
But nonetheless, he chose to mind himself and choose to see everyone else but him.
....
A willow tree not too far from the city blossomed in the rain. Its origin started in spring, when a lonely widowed spinster had planted a seed. As time followed all these years, it grew, the life she created turned into miracles, but she was long gone, before she could see her own child, but she didn't fret on what she had lost, because she had seen what it could have been because of the wind.
The wind picked up on a fallen flower, along with its leafy companion, both intertwined and danced through the soaring sky. Both floating in the air, fighting the gravity, pulling them down, But the rule of nature had said its truth, no power could over power gravity, for gravity is the power of the beyond.
The rain following them, a companion since birth. It fell with them, in a way where their first sight of existence had blossomed from the warmth of rain, and had become their last companion to their end.
But the gust had picked them up, and flew them away again.
But the mystery of where they had land is somewhere where the dead followed its own end.
The city was a place that built on longing forgotten wars. But it only showed peace after its endless fight. It now rained so endlessly, its overwhelming pain flooded through the streets, and souls who would have worked to the bone, grit with pain. But never wondered if it was all worth it. The buildings smothered in lights and gray mold sprouting further into the burrow of the city. The city's street lights were sorrowful for more, for less or something else.
Wet damping streets, dimmed lights floored with water, drowning. Covered in splashes of dandelions.
The Rain's reigning salvation, as the cloud roared for more, and more.
Cracks beneath the city layered with unfathomable truth.
Dark vines growing, creeping in, snuffing out the little tantalizing hope that is left.
People swarming, swarming, like bugs cluttered trying to find food.
So little to be found of any warmth or love. It was all a place that moved too slow or too fast, but the world isn't kind to any of us who can't be what people want us to be. We have to be just right for people, but never just right for us.
To those who are lucky to find no friend can see that solitary suits those who can see much more in the light of isolation.
He threads the path alone, his black boots damped, his coat wet from the splash, his hair soaked in rain unwilling to let the umbrella hide from the pain. His reflected glasses moved between eden to earth. To warp his reality to his own. Each step moving forward with intent.
He walks, and walks, but to where we cannot see yet. He trudges through millions of unforgotten seeds moving at pace to place unaware of their own destination.
Even though all he sees are lost vermins, somehow his faraway heart, a land so far beneath him, warms up when he sees a flower smile, his face flushed, though there is no hope left, he stands still holding a flashlight, to any of those who dare to be seen, to be bathed in hope for there is little to be left with. For all hope is what he can offer for what little these insects have left.
The alleyways of the district had tightened the volume.
People slipping in and out.
Filled with rambunctious cafes with long life before its desolated future ahead.
The cafe was petite, it had its own feeling of smallness. Locked with thousands of pillows suffocating you in comfort and tenderness.
There was only one entrance to it.
To the edges of the cafe, the wall's coloring had been winded down by the rain, its colors ripped. The stone wall cracks peering out.
Beyond the cracks is a small house above it, a tree branch hanging.
The cafe's entrance door bell had rung, first when he left as the light poured out into the world, and the door closed again, ringing the bell twice. The glass vibrated by the sounds of chirping birds with the smell of vibrant crisped coffee lingering its controlled aroma.
His wayward face blurred into the reflected glass mirrors of the cafe.
He had worn a tie under his long dark coat. His hands tucked into his coat pockets, his smooth pants and at its end covered by his boots, tightening his soaked pants.
He took a step slowly, through the alleyways in peace. Each step dragging deep into the ground, water moving in
His walking pace was quick but quiet.
Each turn was unexpected, no people, nothing had called to him.
But one step changed, the rain had fallen onto him.
The place that was not yet to be made.
Peace swarmed into the cedar tree. Places like this, had a lifetime filled with longing to life and death. Death sat on that black damped bench, and had told a living that it wasn't that bad of a place to get stuck in.
His hands passed by trees, feeling its rough wet skin.
He slowly turned to his left, his body facing two graves closely put together.
One on the right said here lies the beloved daughter of….. and the next was here lies the beloved father and husband of….
Their names have been hidden by the flowers placed upon the bottom of the statute.
The headstone was still crystal clear and clean like it had been cleaned just moments ago.
There are remnants of withered flower crowns on top of each headstone, both of its color fading, the one on the right was colored with green roses, and the left had Hydrangea flowers.
He looks at both as deep as the sky and the ocean under.
No tears flooded or peered through his eyes, but his eyes darkened, unspoken, unseen.
He sat down, in dampy wet ground, turning his legs into butterflies.
He grabbed one fresh flower at the bottom, and started to make new flower crowns, putting new flower crowns on top of each headstone, and removing the old ones. Putting the old ones on the grassy ground.
Buckets of rain started to pour into the city, because the sea will now eat for it has been hungry. A hunger that will be satisfied.
He sat there in the cold wetness of his body.
Submerged in the pouring water.
His pupils fluctuate from constricted to dilating. His eyes saw something….
But he wasn't surprised nor was he afraid.
The reflection of his eyes saw something much greater than the world could have foresaw.
It's like he knew.
"Farewell & Hello" he spoke at last.
Then the thundering wave took him away.