A mess of grey swirls loom over, what seems to be, the entire earth. An almost warm wind continues to move the clouds artfully, all the while whistling an awfully familiar tune through the patches of stark green.
A light stomping of footsteps plays over the song of the earth, but not quite loudly enough to overthrow it's soft melody. The warm wind continues to flow. It continues to paint the sky uncountable hues of grey, and it continues to play it's soft, soft song.
An old crumbling road is felt underfoot of the drummer, holding no life left inside of it. Its bumps and weathered cracks offering no hope of repair.
As the drumming continues she begins to beg, to prey to anyone or anything that could possibly hear her, for it to rain. For the world to be pushed underwater. For the sky to release thunderous roars, and screaming cracks. For the artful clouds to pour and cry every inch of water they had inside themselves.
She wanted to see the world bend. For the sky to touch the land. For the clouds to crash mercilessly into the cracked road beneath her feet, and maybe turn everything upside down.
Her stare increased against the grey backdrop and it became less and less like art, and more of a disastrous mess no one ever cared enough to clean.
She screamed and yelled. Stared it in the face, as her mother had when she was nothing but a small child, and waited desperately to see the sky show it felt the pain, to feel the rain hold her.
Just as the roads had with time, her bumps and weathered bruises showed. Her strong voice and accusatory finger withered away. Her facade faded into the trees not far from where she stood pushed easily by the wind.
It was there, in the middle of a dead road surrounded by prosperous trees and artfully disastrous clouds, she broke.
She cried over the broken pieces inside her.
The sky buckled under the pressure of the heavy water, and finally poured. It poured everything it had over that one girl, to show her it understood her pain, and to tell her it would be okay.
The water that fell would fill the broken pieces of her up, and she would, once again, be okay.
She would be able to, yet again, make the clouds crash mercilessly onto the cracked, shattered road.
The rain would never hurt her
It has only ever wanted to heal her.
AN: Written by me
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