Short Stories.

Don't Keep The Rain From Pouring.

[I Don't Write In Third Person Very Often, But I Feel That This One Was Really Good. I'm Surprisingly Proud Of How This Turned Out, Too, So Enjoy.  ~Joy.]

Please, Be Over... I Can't Live... Just... Take Me.

Bring Me To The Land Of The Angels So I Can See My Family.

The Rain Drenched Relentlessly Upon The Town, Dark Besides The Inferno In The Boy's Home. The Downpour Hardly Assisted As The House Groaned In Protest Of Standing. The Red And Orange Flames Danced Closer To The Frail Boy's Figure In The Corner. He Struggled To Breathe Through The Thick Grey Smoke Pouring Through The Burning Walls. He Heard A Crash In Another Part Of His Beloved Home As The Roofing Collapses In And Sends A Spray Of Ash And Dust Into His Eyes. They Shut Tightly With The Burn As He Let A Darkness Seep Into His Mind.

Cold. Empty. Abandoned.

The Words To Describe How The Raven Haired Boy Felt Were Vague As He Stared Awake At The Still Ceiling. He Hardly Registered The Pool Of Warm Orange Light That Bathed The Room As The Sun Began To Rise Over The Horizon. He Had Spent Countless Days In The Nest Of Blankets Upon His Bed, Replaying The Scenes Of His Past And Longing For For Someway To Retrieve What Had Happened. His Only Wish Was That He Could Go Back And Protect The Family He Once Had... But He Knew Nothing Could Save Them Now.

His Aunt Called Out From Behind The Wood Door With A Light Knock, Balancing The Plate Of Breakfast Foods With Her Other Hand. "Ciaran, I'm Coming In." She Stood Outside Of The Door For A Lingering Few Moments With A Small Hope Of A Response. With A Pained Heart, She Pushed The Door Open And Slipped Through. She Held Nothing But Sympathy For Her Nephew, Whom Was So Sought Up In His Grief That He Was Rendered Almost Lifeless. She Sat On The Wooden Chair Beside His Bed And Picked Up A Small Spoonful Of Oatmeal She Had Prepared, Bringing It To His Lips.

He Turned His Head Away, A Slight Motion That Would Be Practically Unnoticeable To Anyone Other Than The Woman. She Brought The Spoon Down, Her Eyebrows Knitting In Concern. "Prince..." She Began, Using A Nickname From His Childhood Which Made His Stomach Churn. "Please... Speak To Me. I Know It'll Be Hard, But You Can't Do Anything If You Stay In Here." She Spoke Quietly To Him, Using A Motherly And Caring Tone Laced With Exhaustion.

Ciaran Turned His Head, Looking At His Graying Aunt. That Was The Most Motion He'd Managed In A While. He Stared Into Her Dark Brown Orbs And Noticed Just How Wary She Really Was. His Aunt Stared Back, Tears Brimming In Her Eyes.

There Was Just A Flash Of Realization In His Moon-Like Grey Eyes As A Solitary Rolled Down His Cheek. He'd Finally Understood Why She Stayed... Even When The Others Passed. The Aunt 's Body Racked With Sobs As She Wrapped Her Arms Around Her Nephew,Frail And Fragile From Malnutrition. She Grips Onto His Nightshirt As If Losing Hold Of Him Would Bring Her To Her End.

The Sense Of Warmth Ciaran Felt Then Was Spreading Through His Chest. It Was A Foreign Feeling To Him After His Past. He Never Thought He Would Feel Such A Burning Behind His Eyes as Tears Poured Freely Down His Pale Cheeks And Soaked His Aunts Amber Locks. He Cried With Her For Hours.

Warm, Peaceful... Loved.

The Words To Describe How Young Ciaran Brendan Felt At That Very Moment Flowed As Easily As The Tears From His Eyes As He Realized... It'll Get Better.

It'll Always Get Better, My Friend.

So Don't Give Up.  

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