Drip...drop...drip...drop...
That's all I heard. The constant, drip drop, of water that was flowing down leaves of the canopy overhead. Trees that formed an umbrella, stretching across the sky, allowing the pounding rain to land, and then flow down the separate leaves like small rivers.
My hair was stuck on my forehead, clinging to it like velcro, not letting go.
I was shivering, and yet, I wasn't cold. In fact, I was enjoying myself. I liked the feeling of raindrops pounding onto my skin, my clothes, my head, each one around the size of a large pebble. It made me feel like I was actually there, that I wasn't hallucinating.
That I was alive.
Nothing beats that feeling, and nothing ever will.
I came across this place a couple months ago. Abandoned, unwanted, unneeded, unloved, hated, despised, confused, wanting to be loved, to be wanted, to be needed, to be good for something. I never was. However, in my despair; my tragedy, I stumbled upon a grove of trees. Leaves swaying, and a calm and gentle breeze flowing through and in between the trunks. It seemed nice. Pleasant, even, an I didn't know what to do.
I had thought, "What is this place? Why am I here? I'm not supposed to find things. I'm not supposed to know things. WhAt iS ThIS?", and I knew I shouldn't run towards the place, I knew that I shouldn't have gasped and heaved until I was there, but my body wouldn't listen. It wouldn't listen to the simple logic, wouldn't pay attention to anything but the sound of my heart hammering against my chest.
The trees looked to be opening up to me, welcoming me in, telling me that in their woods I would be happy, that I would never be lonely, and my heart just couldn't resist. So when I reached the grove, I stood there for a while, and...and...I don't know, I can't remember.
Ugh, this whole thing is giving me a headache. Anyway, back to the present. Like I said, it was a stormy day. Rain pounding and whatnot, but this wasn't the rain that I was used to. The rain that washed away your fears, and left you calm. No, this was a rain of vengeance, of rage, of sadness, and insanity. This was the kind of rain that tore families apart, the kind that started to fall after the death of a loved one.
Through the rain, I saw a dark figure, and I was surprised. I haven't seen anyone in the grove except for me, so I ignored the stinging in my eyes, and the roaring in my ears and called out, "Who's there? Can you hear me? What's your name?" With every question and attempt at conversation I crept closer to the figure. I was right behind--what ever it was--now. So close, it seemed, yet so far, for I could still only make out a blurry form even though I was so close.
And now, in the real present, I can only wish that I never decided to try and see what it was in the first place.
