Each time I feel it slipping away just makes me want to cry. That feeling that I used to have, and now it's gone. It comes back sometimes and I can almost touch it, almost make it real. And then it slips away again, like sand through a clenching fist, blowing away in the wind. You punish me with your brutality - your ferocity grows increasingly perilous like the torrents of raindrops that fall upon my beaten soul. The voices of your tempest are legion, angry and chanting to any who would listen, the rataplan of hard rain deafening in their deluge. A R/S One-Shot