Rain

The rain falls, as a revelation of your perpetual torment, as a manifestation of your dearth of joy. The droplets shoot from the sky and onto your skin like little tiny, yet painful pricks. Your consciousness is on the very verge of slipping from your grasp, much unlike the annoying raindrops, that linger, as if plastered on your skin. Like what an anechoic chamber does to sound waves, they don't seem to want to move on, to keep on flowing like water is supposed to. They attach to your physical being, and yet are correlated to the sentiments of your soul. What you are experiencing is the epitome of pathetic fallacy, and, speaking of which, you can really do with some pity. But you know, for a fact, that no one would bother to toss theirs at you, someone who is struggling to stand on the brink of nihility, because they don't care. They never did.

Two streams of warm liquid flow out from your eyes and down your face when that thought dawned upon you; like two trickling rivers, and onto the ground. They add more of a euphonious melody to the clamour of discordance caused by the bullets pounding the Earth. Its song is ephemeral however, as its warmth subsides upon assimilating with that of the substance around it. You don't know precisely where you are, but the insipid amount of creativity you have left from your failed career causes you to believe that you are enclosed inside a fine mahogany coffin. You hope to open your eyes eventually to see that you are lying on a catafalque, and are about to be carried into a warm tomb, away from the rain, the bedeviled rain.

You know your time is almost up, that you can smell the repulsive stench of death gnawing at your nostrils, see the sanguine eyes of the reaper, waiting to escort you to the nether regions. You can feel a razor-sharp scythe barely kissing your neck. It feels icy, nevertheless, despite being beaten by tears falling from the sky. But the least you want, is to die a luxurious death. You want to have priests, dressed in their well-mannered cassocks, to join together to chant for you in Latin, and pray to God to have mercy on your soul. You want all the people you have ever known to form a congregation, to bawl and lament for you as if you meant anything to them. You want the love of your life, to stand in front of you and caress her palm on your colorless face. Her other hand would be on her fruitful stomach, carrying your progeny, your legacy. Only then, will you die, alive.

Your euphoric trance, however, ends when your mind descends down, without warning, to the harsh reality. The rain still falls, on the empty shell of a person that will never be what you dream of.

You are dead, and is thrust into the abyss, like Satan had been. You make a painful landing on the grounds of Inferno. You wonder why you would end up here, with the intimidating gates of the Pandaemonium palace towering above you. You claim to have been a virtuous man who attended mass every Sunday when you were alive. You had never killed, stolen, or raped in your life. Why you, of all people, be sent into Hell? You begin to doubt your cruel God, upon hearing the bloody curses and screams hissing out the from the cracks of the building. God is supposed to be merciful, loving, and yet you see a creature, who probably once shared your same opinion; with laden foot thumps, making its way sluggishly towards you. You ask yourself, is this the victim of God's love and mercy, as described in the Christian dogma? Its head of disheveled hair covers its face, though you can still make out an glare from sullen eyes. Its clothes are torn, like it had been lashed by thousands of blades and whips, as you now know from what it attained such a disturbing gaze. A guttural noise escapes its mouth, with a breath is so foul that you make much of an effort to swallow the vomit that is rising inside your throat. You want to escape, but the creature is no longer alone. Before you know it, more of these walking skeletons appear out of thin air. They seem to want to make an enclosure around you, and to turn you into one of them. Their moans become louder, as the creatures spawn and multiply. Soon after, you are trapped within a forlorn dome.

Your eyes dart around frantically, praying to find any speckle of hope, of anything that may heed you in escaping. You know that there is no such thing as hope in the place into which you have been thrown. As they gain closer and closer, until they are inches away from devouring you, you squint see a tiny ray of light hovering some distance above. It plants a little bud of joy inside of you, as it kisses your sweaty skin gently. The light is weak, but is enough to blind since your eyes have been so accustomed to the dark. That didn't hinder your strive for it however, as you extend your arm to its furthest, desperately trying to grasp the minuscule fibre of hope twinkling above like a star. Suddenly, it feels as if angelic wings grew out from your back that spread to their full expansion to levitate you gently from the inky depths of hell. You look down to see the creatures below staring with awe, at the divine sight. Their mouths curve upwards to form a crooked smile, as the light expands outward, to envelope you in its warmth and relief.

A heavenly choir, echoing from the distance floats into your ears in the form of a clement embrace. What seems like a flock of doves are streaming across the endless firmament. But as you observe in more detail, you see that they are angels, with a countenance reflecting no less than the quintessence of happiness- something that you, a complete failure, have never experience before. Though you can't help, but smile back. Your wings carry you in front of the facade of an edifice, exquisitely adorned with gold. Your eager legs carry you up the series of luxurious steps, as your once spiteful heart submits to purity and virtue. The singsong of the seraphs grows louder, as you reach for the top. The gates open for you, and a sight reveals, unworthy of your mortal eyes. You run up to your creator, radiating shimmering, with all the previous negative feelings tossed aside. You fall on your knees, and kiss the hem of his white robe, as your insides explode with everlasting happiness that simply cannot be expressed through earthly words.

You lay on the ground now, sober from your reverie. It is raining but a small drizzle, and it no longer brings you in pain, or despair, as that is well beyond you. Instead, it arrives as a tender caress, with the refreshing fluid sinking into your tired pores. It rejuvenates you, by extracting, from the dark depths of your mind, the fountain of infinite bliss. The rain evokes a metamorphosis, so that you can begin life, anew.