Rain

Rain

He stomps through the puddles formed on the rough sidewalk, through this concrete world tinted in amber the way streetlights jaundice the ever-present city clouds. An acid rain existence envelopes him as he makes his way through the streets of this barren wasteland. The disgusting smell of sulfur is intoxicating. He can taste his own tears of sorrow and he feels his heart catch in his throat. The fluid retribution of heaven and hell runs down through his hair and seeps up into his shoes. He can feel it eating away so slowly at the skin of his face. He trudges past the dead architecture designed and built by dead people, surrounded by destroyed creation. His ears are consumed by the relentless patter of the corrosive drops, each more vile than the last, as they land on the shoulders of his jacket, which blazes red as the blood of the slain world around him. He likens the jacket to a stain on the hands of this sterile world. It was his last possession. It was the last possession, remnant of the decadent past that destroyed its own future for narcissism.